The Stand
by ButThereWasAGoat
Summary: The path from New Orleans to the Florida Keys is fraught with danger, but they've come too far to give up hope now. Nick/Ellis, adventure style!
1. The Stand

Ellis could barely see for the dust. And the sun- so bright that it had scared all the blue out of the sky, beating down on his back and stifling the air, smothering them in wet heat. The stench of rotting flesh and sweat that clung to him was enough to make him nauseous. How could it have gotten hotter since they landed? The wounds he bore fresh from fleeing across Veteran's Memorial Bridge ached and seeped sticky blood, but he did not complain.

Never complain.

The sharp barrel of a shotgun struck his back, made him stumble on the rocks, made Nick and Rochelle glance at him. He drew a ragged breath through gritted teeth and forced his feet to move to the pace that the soldiers set. Sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes. They couldn't afford to be weak now.

_Where are they takin' us?_

Actually, he didn't want to know.

He gathered Nick was right though. What he wouldn't give to be back in that whitewashed saferoom at the bridge. They could backtrack home, to sweet Georgia; they could find the Jimmy Gibbs Jr and drive all the way down Route 95 to Miami, go find Louis and Francis and _Zoey _at the keys. Oh Lord, she was so beautiful... Yet now he remembered no more of her face than wispy bangs and distant green eyes. What he wouldn't give to see that girl again.

He watched the wall spring up out of the dust storm like a phantom from a lake and couldn't supress the weary smile that escaped his lips. Down to the last detail, Nick was always right.

'_They're going to line us up against a wall, and shoot us.'_

They had all known the risk. And hell, they'd used up enough luck to last a lifetime by the time they got to Louisiana. It was bound to happen sometime... Better to accept it now than die miserable, he supposed.

It hurt like a bitch, though.

"Line up."

Wordlessly, they each moved to a spot on the wall. There was an unspoken agreement, he was sure: To die as they had lived. Don't let them see the fear, and _never _say goodbye. The mantra that had gotten them this far.

Ellis reached his hand out to Rochelle, to his right. She squeezed back weakly, but did not look at him. Nick stood silent and unflinching to his left, staring at the red stone wall as if he could see right through it. Stoic to the end. Ellis would miss that. He didn't dare turn his head far enough to see where Coach was, but was pretty sure that he would never see him again.

_Goodbye, Coach. It's been a pleasure. I ain't a praying man no more, but I hope to God that you got your seat in Heaven._

_You'll be fine, Ro. Everyone you love is up there waitin' for you. An' even if they ain't, well, I guess we just won't suffer no more._

_Nick... Thanks, bro. For everything. _

The men in the white Hazmat suits were talking to them, but the wind and the muffling effect of their breathing apparatus made it hard to hear. Ellis didn't particularly want to end his life listening to these two sons of bitches anyway. He wiped absently at his eye, trying to evict a grain of dust.

"Any last words?" One soldier asked, devoid of emotion. He'd probably pulled the trigger on a hundred poor bastards before them, the ex-mechanic mused. The filters on their masks kinda made them sound like Darth Vader... He shook himself mentally and tried to push the image of the Dark Lord of the Sith holding them at gunpoint from his mind. That would be a _shitty _final thought.

"I have." Coach said, as bold as he would have been if a shotgun wasn't aimed at his head. He cleared his throat and spoke deliberately, like he wanted his final words to be his best.

"Forgive them, Father... They know not what they do."

A cold sickness grew from Ellis's belly up to his throat, threatening to choke him. This was it. At twenty-three years old this was it, and he wasn't ready for it. No matter if it meant being reunited with his Grandparents, his childhood pets, his best friend from second grade who got hit by a car- he wasn't ready to die. Not yet. He wanted more time with his new friends, wanted to know them inside out. Even in a world full of death, there was just so much more living to do.

In an effort to calm himself, he closed his eyes and reached for the first happy memory that his mind handed him. The soft, sweet smell of his Mama's gingerbread baking, like she always made for them on Thursday nights when she got paid. His little sister's laughs as he chased her around the yard barefoot, threatening tickles. The first time he and Keith had snuck beer into the house and gotten so drunk that Keith threw up on the cat, and they had to bathe her in the bathtub without waking anyone. Keith had to go to hospital for a tetanus shot the next day to ward off infection from the cat scratches covering 90% of his body.

There was no place like home.

But then that just made him think of Dorothy in her red shoes, and that was an even shittier final memory. Well, too late now.

Bang, bang. The sound of bodies falling, sickeningly familiar.

...Yet wrong. Ellis knew a pistol shot when he heard one. Didn't the military guys have shotguns?

He looked to his right, to see who still stood with him. Ro did, unmoving but eyes wide open.

He looked to his left. Nick? Twinkling green eyes met his. Surely not. The older man had a grin as wide as the day was long on plastered on his face, and his hip jutted out to the side like it always did when he was pleased with himself. Ellis's eyes dropped to the glock in the man's hand, then followed through to the two soldiers now crumpled in the dust. Two and two made four.

_We're going to live._

A grin to rival Nick's spread across his face- he couldn't decide whether to whack him for being so god damn cocksure and _right _all the time or kiss him for being such a sneaky bastard, but that could wait. Behind him Rochelle uttered something incredulous, and he heard Coach- _Coach, you're alive! _– give a short bark of laughter, and applause. Nick stage bowed.

"I hid this in my pants." The conman explained casually, spun the gun on his finger and tucked it back into it's holster. Ellis shook his head in disbelief. Suave. Like cheating death by shooting a couple of goddamn _Marines_ between the eyes was _no big deal_.

_You are one slick son of a bitch, Nick._

Wiping his sweaty palms on his jacket Nick strode over to the two bodies.

"No more of this 'lamb to slaughter' bullshit, okay guys? Gotta move fast- here," Ellis blinked dumbly and caught the shotgun Nick threw to him reflexively. Now that the shock was wearing off the adrenaline had started pumping, overriding the pain and exhaustion. How long did they have to pull this off? Nick's plan needed no explanation- as quick and as silent as they always were when preparing to ambush, they stripped the soldiers of their Hazmat suits and Ellis and Nick slipped into them. They were stiflingly hot inside and covered in blood, but once the head protection was on they became unidentifiable; the only sign of struggle being the holes where the rounds had entered and exited. By the time they were close enough for those to be noticeable, it would be all too late. Ellis handed his hat to Rochelle for safekeeping, and Nick fired his gun twice at the wall for appearance's sake.

The chopper pilot was sure going to be in for a surprise.


	2. Flight of Force

"What would you say the range on one of those things is?"

Ellis raised an eyebrow at Nick- not that his friend could see it through the reflective visor. He was a car mechanic, not a... Well, whatever helicopter experts call themselves.

"Shit man, I don't know. Probably a hundred miles or so?" He shrugged noncommittally and shot a wary glance over his shoulder, back towards the hangar where they had left Coach and Ro. He could no longer see them; only what looked like miles and miles of asphalt stretched out under a hazy horizon, with the great grey hangars looming like hills against the sky. And the bodies. Lots of bodies.

The brick wall that they were crouching behind bore the triangular plaque of the New Orleans Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base, over which somebody had sprayed 'ALL DEAD'. It seemed that what once had been a CEDA safezone had succumbed to the infection. They had seen no other person- alive, at least. Clusters of human corpses lined the runways, some still smouldering from the fire set into the flesh. The only sound and movement beyond the dying wind was the moan of the occasional common infected come to feast upon the fallen, and the idling helicopter a few hundred feet away.

Nick removed his headgear and took a tentative look back around the wall. Ellis wasn't quite sure what they were waiting for, but the way the older man frowned made him wonder if he was having second thoughts. He knew Nick well enough to know that he wasn't a hesitant man- not when it came to his own plans, anyway. Everyone else's' were fair game.

After some moments the conman stood wordlessly and slung the shotgun over his back, motioning for Ellis to do the same. He winked at him before replacing the hazmat's headpiece, and stepped out beyond the wall.

As the pair drew closer to the launch pad Ellis could make out the form of the helicopter pilot, sat facing away from them on a small fold-out chair. A shotgun, the same as theirs, leant against his leg. His plaid button down shirt, jeans and casual inattention betrayed the fact that he wasn't a soldier. Despite the loud hum of the chopper's engine, the way that his head lolled to the side told that he was very much asleep.

Nick nodded, a silent signal. They raised their guns. Nick approached the man in a well practiced creep. His ability to move in utter silence amused Ellis; whether it was tiptoeing around a Witch or sneaking out of the saferoom to take a leak at night, he was uncannily quiet. He hardly needed to be considering the racket that the chopper was making, but it was just how Nick was: thorough to the last detail. Sneaking was a skill that came in handy when your job involved making enemies, Ellis supposed.

The older man's shogun touched the back of the pilot's neck. He did not look up. Nick cleared his throat and jabbed it a little harder, but still no response.

"What the shit? Is this guy dea-"

A shell shot past Ellis's ear, ripping at the hazmat- he didn't have time to register where it was coming from before Nick was dragging him backwards, firing at the helicopter's window and screaming curses- Ellis raised his gun on instinct and shot blindly at the man in the chair, who fell with a dull thud to the floor. His eyeless face leered back at them, bloated, grey and flyblown.

"Shit man, _RUN_!"

They fled, bullets pinging past and hitting the asphalt around them as they went- Ellis didn't think he'd ever ran that fast in his life, not from a Tank, not from that group of bullocks that Keith pissed off that time- and yet the distance to the wall seemed ten times what it had a few seconds ago.

"Why are helicopter pilots _all _such murderous fucking zombie bastards!" Nick bellowed and tore off the visor before throwing himself behind the wall, closely followed by Ellis. He ducked out from the other side briefly and fired the last of his shells back at the chopper. No fire returned.

Shakily, Ellis removed his own visor and unzipped the torn and bloodied hazmat suit. He swallowed heavily and gasped for air, forsaking any effort to stave off lightheadedness. Shooting zombies, shit, that was par for the course. They'd never had to shoot at _people. _Hell, if it hadn't have been a dead guy propped up in that chair he would be a _murderer_ right now. That... That was just messed up. He couldn't hear any footsteps over the pounding in his ears, but a cursory glance back around the wall confirmed that they were not being pursued.

"D'yuh think we killed 'im?" He panted, trying to suppress the quake in his voice. Nick leant against the wall and doubled over, hands resting on his knees and breathing heavily. His age was showing. The sound of the helicopter rotors spinning, and the sight of it as it flew eastbound above their heads answered for him.

Disappointment hit Ellis in the stomach like a rock dropping into a pool. There went their ride... Their hopes of not having to kill any more goddamn zombies. Even for him, it just wasn't much fun anymore.

Well, there was nothing for it. Once Nick had caught his breath and removed his own hazmat they began wordlessly across the dusty expanse towards the hangars.

They found Coach and Ro in a large storage room, filtering through what appeared to be care packages in a search for imperishable food. A small pile of cookies and some bottled juice sat by the door.

"The pilot said he couldn't give us a ride," Nick announced coolly, picking up a cookie and strolling across the debris-strewn threshold. Coach snorted and moved the package he had been sorting to the side before methodically opening another with a bread knife. "So we heard. Sounded like Morse code out there, but in buckshot."

"We _were _worried," Ro assured, patting the space next to her in a prompt for Ellis to sit, "But we know you two can handle yourselves. That and we could hear you cursing all the way over here, Nick. I don't think there are enough twinkies here to last us for more than a couple of days though." She sighed and tucked a stray braid behind her ear, a smile playing on her lips. "On the plus side, _Ellis_, there's plenty of deodorant." He grinned and swatted at her playfully. Three weeks without showering whilst being sprayed with bile and wading through sewage had taken it's toll on all of them, but all of the extraneous jumping, climbing and running around the young man did wasn't inconsequential. Nick wrinkled his nose in mock disgust.

"So after we've scrubbed the kid's stink out, what's our plan?"

The group fell silent. New Orleans had always been the final goal, ever since the day they joined forces at The Vannah. Staying alive long enough to get there had been the only other thing on their mind. Even Nick hadn't yet seriously entertained the idea of a Plan B- as far as they knew, there was none.

"Well, first thing's first" Coach said at long last. "We need food, and water, and guns. We need a map. And I'll eat Ellis's hat if there ain't some kinda vehicle left on this base that we can use."

"Y' can't eat my hat Coach," Ellis said absently, and opened a bag of chips. His face brightened. "Not unless you let me drive a tank! That would be the best thing that ever happened to me. Hey Nick, what d'you reckon would win in a fight between an army tank and a zombie Tank? Awww man, I'd pay good money to see-"

Rochelle gently placed her hand over Ellis's mouth, plopped his hat back on his head so that it covered his eyes and stole one of his chips. He chuckled and hugged the bag possessively to his chest.

"You've been told, boy." Coach grinned broadly and leant over to steal another. Nick simply rolled his eyes at the children on the floor and cast his gaze back outside to the runways. The fact that they may not be alone hadn't escaped him. Whatever they were doing, they had to decide quickly and then find a safe spot to hole up. The sun was already riding low and threatening to cast the yellow glow of evening over the base, and experience had taught them that the infected preferred the cool temperatures of night. He bit into his cookie and scowled- it had raisins in it. His scowl only deepend when an annoying voice in his head reminded him that they'd probably be eating a lot worse in the weeks to come.

"Hey, what about that other group?" Rochelle suggested brightly, licking grease and salt from her fingers. "They were headed to the Florida Keys. After all this, we could do a lot worse than a lifetime of sunbathing."

Nick snorted and shook his head. "You just want to get back to that biker asshole."

Rochelle shot him a piercing look and started opening the next package. Nick was half expecting Ellis to make some remark about that chick that was with the biker asshole, but the young man sat quietly with his hands folded in his lap. Nick wasn't sure that he liked Ellis being quiet. It usually meant that he was thinking, and that was rarely a good thing- usually it meant more stories about Keith were on their way. Judging by the distant look on the boy's face it would probably take a long time for him to finish mulling it over, at least. Nick pulled a chair over from a nearby in lieu of sitting on the floor with the others, and seized the half empty bag of chips from Ellis's hands. The mechanic frowned and chewed on his tongue, seemingly unphased by the theft.

"We could... Get a boat." He drawled slowly. "Set off an' follow the shore where the sea ain't so rough. Hell, how long is Florida? I bet you we could be there in a week or two..." He trailed off, and folded his arms in thought. "Uh'course, we'd have to _find _it first, fuel it... I reckon I could drive it, if drivins' what you call it with boats. I watched Virgil plenty."

Rochelle, Nick and Coach exchanged glances. That wasn't actually a bad plan. The benefits of bypassing the zombie infested streets and avoiding more conflict with the military were not to be taken lightly.

Ellis looked to Coach. As the unofficial leader of the group he usually had the last say in which direction to head, and the best idea of how to go about it. Eventually the older man smiled at him and nodded.

"You got a good head on you, boy. Sometimes." Coach unfolded his legs and stood up slowly, mindful of straining his old knee injury. The others knew better than to offer to help him up.

"Come on, 'yall. Let's get this food together, and any objections can wait for the saferoom." He looked pointedly at Nick, who laughed.

"None here. Bring me that horizon."


	3. Dawn Over Dead Lands

Only at night did they find any respite from the near constant state of high tension. Behind the saferoom door, silent and asleep with a gun at your side was the closest thing to safety that existed these days. The military's action against them had certainly confirmed that.

Ellis stared blankly at the clock on the wall. It was gone three, but aside from his heavy limbs he didn't feel much like sleeping. He had always been a stickler for not being able to fall asleep if something was bothering him, and despite the dangers of being overtired in this new zombie-riddled world, he seemed unable to shake the habit. He rolled over quietly onto his side, mindful of Coach snoring softly in the bunk below.

In spite of the physical barrier between the four and the empty night outside, he felt vulnerable- not that he would ever let the others know that. How the wind howled over the empty airfield was not frightening in itself, but it masked any clues he might have gleaned about whether there were any infected around. The darkness outside of the dorm room could hold any number of quiet terrors, waiting for the right moment to bust in... The shadows on the wall that flickered in the dying glow of the oil lamp were almost claustrophobic, and seemed to creep closer even as he stared at them.

He pulled the cotton duvet up closer to his face, covering his neck. He missed his sister. He missed his cat. Keith, Dave- hell, even Paul. He missed Savannah, his old life where living was simple and familiar and he _belonged_.

Most of all, he missed his Mom. Nothing quite like an apocalypse to show you how much growing up you have left to do.

'_I love you, Ellis. You take care, now.'_

The words hung in his mind, the last that he had heard from her the day before the TV stations all went down and were replaced with messages about evacuation centres and CEDA guidelines. That simple phrase had been a staple of his life only days ago, after every dinner and phone call.

He couldn't help but wonder if the only thing left alive of his friends and family were his memories of them.

* * *

The next day brought sunshine, clear skies and considerably less wind. Ellis rolled over onto his back, vaguely aware that his tossing and turning had caused the t-shirt that he had worn whilst his own dried out overnight to ride up around his chest. He scratched his belly, consumed by the hazy bliss of the half asleep and yawned so wide that his jaw popped.

"Morning, sleepyhead." Came an amused voice. He blinked slowly to return his focus and smiled at Rochelle, who stood beside the bunk holding a Tupperware container full of steaming mushroom soup. She handed it to him and carefully climbed up the ladder to join him on the mattress, before producing two spoons from her back pocket. Simple, practical things like clean bowls and eating utensils were often difficult to find- all four of them had grown used to sharing meals, even though the thought of it still upset Nick. Ellis quite liked it. It made him feel like they were a real family.

They shared their soup quietly for a few minutes, just savouring the safety, the stillness of morning and the novelty of hot food. Despite Ellis's melancholy mood during the night, to watch Rochelle eating and be close enough that he could feel her warmth lifted his spirits. It was an odd comfort. He didn't even know the woman's last name, her favourite colour or where she grew up; and yet that didn't matter at all. By some strange twist of fate here they all were together, fighting the long defeat.

She flicked her loose braids over her shoulder and blew gently onto the contents of the soup spoon, oblivious to his musings.

He was glad that they had lived through yesterday. So glad that they still had all their lives ahead of them, no matter how long they would end up being.

Then he realised that he was staring at her, and hastily turned back to his food.

* * *

"Well, it's hardly a tank, but I guess we could stretch to this."

Coach shot Nick a look that would make a lesser man nervous, and ran his hand over the hood of the smooth, tan surface of the armoured vehicle. It was obviously new- not a dent or scratch to be seen. It stood in stark contrast to the remains of the mayhem surrounding it: bloody smears and bullet holes peppered the walls of the shipping container, and hastily scrawled words unintelligible in the dim light covered most of the rear quarter. Guessing from the amount of blood present it had been the last refuge of some poor soul, from either the infected or the military.

Nick leant casually against the doorway- after ensuring that there was no blood on it first, of course. Having been the first two to rise, they had left a note and gone in search of a vehicle for the trip ahead. Despite it being a good half mile back to the barracks where they had spent the night, he felt sure that the majority of the time that they'd been out had been spent on Coach stroking the damn Humvee and repeatedly walking around it. He couldn't help but wish that their resident mechanic was there; he would probably know what to look for a damn sight better than he and Coach did. Hell, he'd probably be so insistent on driving it that they'd be half way to Florida by now, too.

Okay, maybe there was a selfish reason to wish for Ellis's presence as well. The kid's reaction when he realised that they'd be driving a vehicle as badass as this would be amusing, to say the least.

"Does it have climate control? Or a radio?" Nick inquired. Coach, who was now running his fingers over the tyre tread, shook his head.

"Does it even have gas?" Nick suspected that he was talking to himself now- Coach was rarely receptive to sarcasm, not that it stopped him. "Because if we have to run around this base gathering half empty cans again whilst the horde beats our sorry asses into the ground, I am going to shoot myself."

"You go ahead," the older man said gruffly, now half inside the driver's door and fiddling with something or other on the inside. "I ain't gonna miss you."

Nick laughed, because he knew that he didn't mean it.

* * *

By mid morning they were assembled on the asphalt; clean, fed, patched up and armed with enough supplies to keep them that way for some time. Nick had even found a GPS unit in an office somewhere, which had saved him being chastised for shunning his gas-hunting duties.

Rochelle rested her elbows on the hood with the GPS in one hand and a map in the other, tapping co-ordinates into it. Coach leant over her shoulder, a little baffled by how quickly she had figured out how to work the device, whilst Ellis hauled bags of guns and food into the back of the vehicle with a wide grin on his face. Nick just stood, watching.

They had decided to head north, back across the Mississippi on the Crescent City Connection bridge. It had still been standing when they had passed over it in the helicopter the previous day ("If it ain't there any more, we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it." Coach had chuckled). Then it would just be a case of taking the I10 eastwards until they could either go no further, or found a port with a suitable boat.

With the last of the bags loaded, Ellis hopped gleefully into the driver's seat. It was so similar to a regular car, yet so different- purely functional, with a lot of buttons, dials and levers to work out. Rochelle and Coach's voices were drowned out by his own flurry of tangled thoughts, as he examined the extra gearstick, the red warning stickers on the dash and the mysterious blank LCD monitors. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret that he had not set aside a few minutes to take a look under the hood. It was pretty certain that the 4.0 litre V6 engine in his Ford Ranger, no matter how much he loved it, would pale in comparison. Still, he figured he'd have plenty of time to take a peek later.

Nick slid unnoticed into the passenger seat and affixed the newly programmed GPS to the windshield, whilst Coach and Rochelle headed around the back to double check their supplies. The pop of the suction-cup catching on the glass jolted Ellis out of his machinery-induced stupor.

"Having fun there, Sport?" Nick asked, not bothering to conceal a smug grin. He had been right about Ellis's reaction. The look of awe on his face was nearly cute.

"Shit, you don't even _know_. If it was legal, I would marry this machine. Once I married the Jimmy Gibbs, o'course." He sighed fondly at the memory of the stock car, running his hands over the Humvee's steering wheel. "It sure is beautiful."

Nick's eyebrows rose.

"More beautiful than that Zoey chick?"

"Well naw..." Ellis scratched his nose and finally tore his eyes away from one of the little dials on the dash. "The love you have for a car ain't like the love you have for a woman, Nick. You should know that." He added with a sly smile. "I can't see you bein' the type that'd drive anythin' worth less than a house."

Nick tapped one of his rings idly on the door handle and shrugged. The kid was obviously asking, in his own way. Might as well humour him.

"I had a Bugatti Veyron once." He gazed out of the windshield to the blue sky above, almost wistfully. "I won it from a guy at a Blackjack table in Reno... It was a sweet ride."

He glanced at Ellis from the corner of his eye; it seemed that the younger man had completely forgotten about how beautiful their current vehicle was, in favour of doing an amusingly accurate impression of a dead fish.

"Y'ain't serious..." He whispered, gawping, and leant towards Nick in disbelief. "That's like... That's the most expensive car in the _world_, man."

"And the fastest." Nick confirmed. "The fastest road legal one, anyway. I didn't keep it, of course." He added swiftly. If he had any doubts that Ellis's eyes could get any wider, they were duly erased: they looked like they were going to fall straight out of his skull.

"Cars devalue," He explained with a shrug, "If it's not sitting in my account gaining interest, I'm losing money. And I _don't_ lose money. It was never meant to be."

Ellis could only stare at him, gormless, trying to figure out how Nick could talk about winning a million and a half dollar car so... Unenthusiastically. The man was like a goddamn enigma. He couldn't help but feel oddly proud, though. He knew that he'd never have the guts to bet on a prize that big, even if his Mother never had drummed it into him that gambling was a sin.

"You're one crazy sumbitch, Nick." He grinned at the conman and shook his head. "Though I guess that's why you had money, and I didn't."

Nick nodded, amused. Sure, he could tell the hick that he was only sitting there right now because he had sought refuge in Savannah from the guys he owed on the west coast, who had ranged from subtly hinting to break his legs to outright threatening that they would rip off his balls and make him eat them. He _could _tell him that he was tits-deep in debt after hitting a dry spell and frittering the money away in every brothel, bar and casino from Vegas to Atlantic City. He could even tell him about how that bitch of an ex-wife had taken his credit cards and spent every last dollar he had and trashed their house before she left, not two weeks before the infection broke out... But where would the fun in that be?

The Humvee shifted down slightly at the back as Coach and Rochelle, apparently happy with the supplies, climbed in.

"Here, got you something." Coach said, and handed a black box to Ellis. It took him a second to realise what it was.

"A radio! Well, that's real nice Coach, thankyou!" He paused, not wishing to sound ungrateful but unsure of how to word it. "But, uh... Nick an' Ro don't much like our kinda music . An' I don't reckon there'll be any radio stations left, either."

A broad smile spread over Coach's face. "Well, if there are we'll be the first to know about 'em. Gotta keep our ears open, even if it's just to white noise for now."

He felt a little silly for assuming that the radio was for him, but nevertheless Ellis nodded cheerfully in agreement and quickly hooked the radio up to an empty power outlet. It crackled into life with a static hum. He turned the key in the ignition, and basked for a second in the sound of the engine idling before putting it into gear. He had _missed _driving.

"Well folks," he raised his fist to the air and spun the car around towards the exit road, "Florida, baby, _here we __**come**_!"


	4. Bridge Under Troubled Waters

Ellis's enthusiasm was soon quashed.

The conditions on the road were worse than they had anticipated. Constant roadblocks, car wrecks and mounds of debris prevented them from gaining enough speed to simply plough through the zombies as they had in the Jimmy Gibbs, and a stretch that should have taken only thirty minutes was soon stretching to hours. Rochelle, Nick and Coach were quickly obliged to start sniping out of the windows as Ellis haphazardly navigated the various obstacles at the highest speed he dared, often being forced to go offroad. What he had hoped would be a pleasant opportunity to bond with his new friends was now turning into yet another uphill battle.

They continued in watchful silence, interrupted only by the occasional fighter jet passing overhead or an eerie cry from a special infected. But by noon the ruined streets of Timberlane, Terrytown and Gretna were finally behind them, and the wide body of the great Mississippi lay ahead.

What they saw there did nothing to calm their nerves.

Whilst it was true that the bridge was still standing, a large oil tanker had crashed into one of the steel supports and taken out five lanes. It had left behind a slew of smouldering debris and a large hole, right in the middle of the river where the water was at its fastest and deepest. Ellis gave a low whistle.

"Can you drive through that, boy?" Coach questioned.

He didn't know. He looked over his shoulder at the older man and shrugged, lines of worry and doubt creeping over his features. It looked _stable_, sure, but there was no denying that the structural integrity of the bridge had been compromised. Crossing it may just be the straw that would break the camel's back.

"Well," Rochelle said, and followed the line of the river over her map with her finger, "The next closest bridge is the 'Huey P. Long' bridge. Unfortunate name." She sighed and put her feet up on the back of Nick's seat, who scowled at her. She ignored him. "It's about six miles away in a straight line, but probably closer to twelve in reality. Not including diversions. And it's right through the City. And we've only come about fifteen miles in the last two hours. "

"And there's no guarantee that this other bridge isn't bombed to hell." Nick added.

Coach frowned and stretched his legs out, as far as he could in the confined space. It was a rock and a hard place, alright. A distant explosion came from the west and a few more jets flew overhead, cutting through the sky with a shrill wail. The noise, and the memories of the last bridge that they had crossed, sent a chill up his spine.

"Well, you heard 'em. We ain't got time to waste. Get on it, Ellis, and everyone keep your eyes open for Chargers. I don't want no repeats of last time."

He reached down between his legs to the gunbag in the footwell and pulled out three of the more powerful guns that they had acquired. Nick and Rochelle each took two, and with an obedient nod Ellis started the engine back up.

They cleared the first thousand feet or so with relative ease. The bridge dipped slightly in the middle due to the wreck, but for the most part the surface was intact on the eastern side. It looked like there had been some sort of Military checkpoint at the midpoint, though all that remained now were the charred skeletons of tents and less fortunate Humvees than their own. Thankfully, the concrete roadblocks had been smashed or overturned by the oil tanker, which lay teetering on the edge of the gaping hole a hundred feet or so behind them. Beyond the checkpoint the road was littered with cars and bodies. Going slowly across such a space where it would be easy for the infected to hide made them nothing short of vulnerable, but turning back was not an option now.

As the Humvee crept over the charred road surface past the burnt out cars, there came a loud groan of sheered metal. They felt their stomachs rise to their chests as the vehicle dropped downwards with the bridge. The sudden movement caused Ellis's foot to slip off of the clutch, stalling the engine.

"_Shit_," He muttered, and hastily turned the engine back over and put it into gear- when another, louder _creak _echoed from below. The blackened asphalt in front of them split and cracked under duress. They turned to watch in horror as what remained of the tanker slid slowly, with a deafening roar of scraping metal until it fell out of sight, and crashed into the rapid water below. Ellis swallowed hard. He was glad that he was the only one who knew that his foot on the break pedal was the only thing stopping them from following it.

"D-do we go back..." He whispered quakily, as if his voice might cause the rest of the bridge to come falling down, "Or... Gun it?"

"_Gun it!" _Nick and Rochelle hissed in unison- a deafening bang and a roar came from behind them- Ellis put his foot down.

"We got a Tank on our tail!" Coach bellowed and shot out the glass in the back window. The creature's angry bellows and pounding fists were quickly growing closer- it could corner much better than the Humvee and leap right over obstacles, all whilst gaining speed. Nick, Ro and Coach were shooting blind out of the tiny window as the vehicle swerved and dodged, yelling directions that Ellis could not hear over the roar of the bridge crumbling and crashing into the water behind them.

Suddenly, the Tank was not there.

They lurched to the side as it collided Rochelle's door, making her scream and sending her flying into Coach. For a second Ellis was sure that they were going to roll, but the wide wheel base saved them- without hesitation he slammed on the breaks.

"I can't drive like this, we have to take that Mother out!" He yelled, and jumped out of the car. Coach threw his door open and handed Ellis a M-16 before helping him to pull Rochelle and Nick away from the attacks being planted on their side of the vehicle. The Tank did not appear to notice that they were no longer inside, and with a roar it struck the Humvee again, sending the companions scattering out of it's way and sliding it dangerously close to the side of the bridge.

"Protect the car!" Coach yelled, "If we lose those supplies we ain't gonna make it out of here!"

Coach and Ellis took one side, Nick and Rochelle flanked the other- it was a well practiced dance, designed to draw the Tank towards one pair whilst the other attacked, each side switching purposes whenever the Tank changed it's attentions. Ellis and Coach opened fire, their bullets splitting it's swollen, pink skin. It turned in rage, champing it's slack jaw and snarling, all attention now on the two men. They immediately started running backwards, shooting over their shoulders as it charged at them- drawing it away from the Humvee.

"Fire in the hole!" Rochelle yelled, barely audible over the commotion, and threw a Molotov- it missed the creature's body by a yard but lit up the ground beneath it, igniting some leaked oil on the road surface and forcing Ellis and Coach to separate to avoid a wall of flame. The Tank hollered in agony and anger; it's flesh crackled and popped and slick fat began to leak from the bullet holes, but it did not slow. Unable to reach Ellis through the flames, it set it's eyes on Coach.

With the enflamed Tank in hot pursuit, he ran.

There was only one place to hide, if he could make it. Sprinting, unaware of the searing pain in his knee and choking on the hot ashen air he ducked into a small gap between two CEDA trailers, forcing himself to squeeze between their mangled bodies. The Tank was stunned momentarily by the disappearance of it's quarry, but it's confusion soon turned back to rage; unable to follow through the gap, it lunged at the trailers and sent them skidding backwards a few feet- towards the bridge's edge. Ellis looked to Rochelle and Nick, but they were cut off and obscured by the flames. He was alone.

He circled around the beast, emptying as many rounds into it's back as he dared to distract it. It turned sluggishly, the fire on it's great body now dying out and revealing angry, blackened flesh. It lurched towards him, quickly gaining momentum, and he ran- leading it away from Coach's refuge, back into the firing line. He covered his face, said a silent prayer before leaping through the fire- never before more grateful for his flame resistant overalls- Rochelle and Nick were ready for them and were firing at the beast before it came, locating it by it's moans. The ground beneath them quaked under the strain of the collapsing bridge and the Tank's great weight, but just as it drew level with the Humvee it stumbled- Nick took up his axe without hesitation and buried it deep into the creature's neck. It howled pitifully, spewing blood, and with one final dying gurgle it crumpled on the trembling asphalt and was still.

The bridge was quickly beginning to tilt downwards towards the water. The three raced back towards the Humvee and had barely gotten in before Ellis was driving full tilt towards the CEDA trailers. Cars and bodies slid down the inclining road, colliding with eachother like marbles and scraping at the chassis when the mechanic could not avoid them fast enough. They were nearly level with the trailers when Coach ran out beside them- Rochelle flung the door open and she and Nick pulled the man inside just in time before the door was taken off by the passing wreckage of a bus.

The cars were clearing. Ellis pushed the Humvee as far as it would go, swerving and diving, nearly throwing his passengers out of the missing door at times- but they were nearly clear. With a mighty roar the Humvee ploughed through the last of the wreckage and rubble and leapt up the bridge's incline through the tollgate; smashing the barriers and skidding a full hundred and eighty degrees to a stop, just in time to give them a view of the bridge as it fell with an almighty crash and was claimed by the waters of the Mississippi.

Shock took their voices. The only sound was the radio, upturned but crackling merrily, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened.

"Well, shit." Ellis panted, with a nervous laugh. "Uh... Anyone else wanna drive?"


	5. Enjoy the Silence

Having had his offer turned down, Ellis remained firmly in the driver's seat. Nick, Coach and Rochelle, exhausted physically and mentally from their little altercation with the Tank, were only too eager to take the opportunity to recuperate. Besides, once the shock wore off the youngest member of the group seemed quite unphased by it all; now surfing the high of yet another fight that wouldn't be out of place in an action movie, he quickly fell back into his usual excitable habit of talking _at_ his companions rather than _to_ them. He announced that he had decided to name the Humvee Betsy, since he figured that the bridge must have cost 'like, a _billion_ dollars' to build. Nobody bothered to correct him. It trundled along merrily despite its fresh dents and missing door; air whipped through the hole where the door once was and played havoc with the driver's hat, but Rochelle managed to rustle up a temporary cover using a blanket and some duct tape to keep most of the wind out. All in all, they were doing pretty good, Ellis reckoned.

Beyond the initial mangle of traffic around the bridge, the debris and corpse littered roads leading out of New Orleans slowly began to clear. As they reached the outskirts of the city even the infected seemed to be coming at them in smaller and smaller numbers, and with fewer obstacles in their way they were able to pick up the pace a little. Solemn streets and buildings passed by in their hundreds without a second glance from the four companions; the unremarkable husks of once loved houses and streets now doomed to abandonment and decay, no more than blemishes on the face of a dead city.

By three they were nearly upon the state border between Louisiana and Mississippi. The vast forest of the Pearl River State Wildlife Management Area stretched out below the raised highway like a field of emerald bathed in summer sunlight, broken only by the occasional still body of water. A thin mist sat upon the treetops like a crown, muting the vibrant greens in a sombre veil. It was a beautiful sight, though false in it's pretences; the eerie screeches that broke the silence of the trees were more than a little disconcerting. They sounded nothing like any zombie that they had come across before.

Cars were few and far between now, and they hadn't seen any infected for the last hour or so. On the understanding that if anything seemed suspicious they were to wake him, Coach had taken some pills and was sleeping off the pain in his knee. The humidity and warmth was like a drug; Ellis had to shake himself and flex his legs every so often to stop from dozing at the wheel. The monotony of the road and absence of landmarks did not help. Even Nick was slumped down in his seat, eyes closed. Only Rochelle seemed unaffected.

"M-I-S-S-I-P-P-I." Ellis yawned over the purring of the engine, and tilted his head towards the roadsign that announced their arrival at the state. Rochelle chuckled, nudged Nick gently and motioned for him to look.

"Drive faster, I hear banjos." The conman mumbled, and covered his head with his arm.

"We can't go no faster, Nick." Ellis yawned a second time and rubbed his eye, a lazy, smug smile creeping over his features. "Large vehicles burn more gas at higher speeds. It's called _fuel economy._" He emphatically tapped the unlabelled dial that he had figured out to be the fuel gage; it was drooping a little, but it would last them long enough for their purposes. Nick cheerfully flipped him off and turned over. His breathing deepened almost instantly.

"Anyway, I _like_ banjos." The mechanic thought aloud, gladly changing into a lower gear to navigate around an upturned trailer. "This one time Keith and I went to a hoe-down over in Claxton, and there was this guy with one arm playin' fer the crowd. He was real good too, not like professional good, but good enough that you'd buy him a beer; which is what I did after Keith requested he try playin' 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps'. Man, he was so good that Keith started cryin' an' I had to buy _him_ another beer too just ta' get him to man up. Son of a bitch never did pay me back. But more to the point: You may wonder how a one armed man could ever play an instrument requirin' two hands. Now that's the funny thing, 'cause-"

"Ellis," Rochelle leant forward and touched his shoulder lightly. "Could you hush for a second sweetie? And turn the radio up?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, a little baffled as to why she would rather listen to the static on the radio than the end of his story. Nevertheless, he flicked the dial around as far as he dared, so as to not wake Coach. She hoisted herself up out of her seat, wobbling a little precariously with the movement of the vehicle, closed her eyes and pressed her ear to the speaker.

"Uh, Ro? What'cha doin' girl?" Ellis questioned, slowing Betsy gently to a halt. Despite his efforts both Coach and Nick stirred, woken by the absence of motion. He smiled sheepishly at Nick, who returned a scowl.

"Nick's right, but that wasn't a banjo..." She replied softly, and put her finger to her lips in a motion for them to remain quiet. Ellis looked on in puzzlement as she twisted the tuning dial slowly, frowning in deep concentration, working it left and right.

A fuzzy blip, unmistakably a chord, filled their ears before it was drowned in white noise again. With all eyes on her, Rochelle coaxed the dial back into place, and suddenly the static fizzled and cracked into what was barely recognisable as a keyboard, and a man's voice. Fragmented, warped, yet undeniably music.

"Dave Gahan," she sat back, exhaling deeply and clasped her hands in front of her chest. "I have never been so glad to hear you."

"Who?" Ellis and Coach asked in unison. Nick snorted. She looked back and forth between them incredulously, before pointing to her shirt; the logo was peeling and bunched together awkwardly from a sloppy attempt by Ellis to stitch a tear, but the words 'Depeche Mode' were still plainly visible.

"I hear it too, actually." Nick said, nodding. "'Enjoy the Silence,' right? I got that record for my sixteenth."

She smiled at him approvingly and nodded. "At least _you've_ got some taste, Nicolas."

"Hold up, now." Coach interjected, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The Humvee was definitely not designed for a man his size to sleep in; he was getting quite a crick in his neck. "Wherever this transmission is coming from, there are people. Have we passed by a radio tower?"

"Not that I've seen," Ellis replied slowly, eyes rolled to the roof in thought. "But does anyone else think it's a hell'uva coincidence? I mean, that kinda music ain't all too popular down this way. But them military fellers might'a taken a note of what was on your shirt, Ro. Could be a trap."

"Yeah, Ellis? This is the US military we're talking about." Nick sat up grumpily, and resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to be able to finish his nap. He settled for turning the volume down to a more bearable level, and continued. "The scattered, fragmented dregs of the Military at that. If they wanted us dead they'd _bomb_ us, not lure us in with electro-pop. This isn't Hamelin, and we're not rats. Or children."

"He's got a point," Coach agreed, before Ellis had the chance to ask what 'Hamelin' was. "That'd be a hell of an effort to find just four people. There's something fishy about that whole mess, anyway. Why not just leave us to die on the bridge? I reckon those two Nick shot ain't gonna be missed an awful lot if shooting civilians was their game."

"Mm-kay," Ellis conceded with a grin, and switched the engine back on. "So, we just keep goin' and ignore it then?"

"We do what we always do," Coach replied. "We listen, and look, and look again before we leap. Keep the radio on, and wake me up if any people start talkin' on it."


	6. The Abyss Stares Back

A small bump in the road jolted Ellis from his slumber. On instinct he reached for his pistol, but managed to stop himself just in time- the route from his hand to his holster currently being blocked by Rochelle's sleeping body. But there was no gunfire, no zombies. Only the purr of the engine, the adrenaline fuelled pounding in his chest and his sweaty neck sticking on the slick tan leather of the back seat. The woman draped half across his chest exhaled softly, unwoken.

Though his hearing was somewhat muffled by his racing heartbeat and the remnants of sleep, Ellis was vaguely aware of Coach and Nick having a heated discussion in the cab. He breathed in slowly in an attempt to calm himself. The mechanic had handed the wheel over to Coach at sundown and fallen asleep not long after, but many hours had passed; the darkness was awash with the first grey light of morning, and he felt rested, though not wholly. He closed his eyes, content to sleep and be woken once the men had sorted their differences.

Then he heard a young woman's voice. He blinked slowly, looking down at Rochelle. She was still sleeping soundly, outlined by the yellow glow of the streetlamps. He momentarily wondered why the grid wasn't down.

The voice came again- the radio! He felt a little annoyed that the other's hadn't woken them, and gave Rochelle a small shake. She squinted up at him in weary confusion, but as she realised what was happening, no words came from her. Nick and Coach too fell silent, listening.

"Okay, I'm back. The 'Zebra' have definitely gotten in, an' well, we don't have any guns, and our food is runnin' kinda low." The voice crackled in a desperate, heady whisper. He swallowed hard, and tried not to imagine what she might look like, or what her name was. Her voice grew more distant as she turned away from the microphone to cough and wretch; Coach turned up the volume, staring intently.

"I repeat, this is 'Winchester' of ZomPocalypse radio." she coughed hoarsely, "If anyone can still hear me, well, we could really use some help here... We're at the University of South Alabama, in the Technology and Research Park, building three. Jake looks sick now, real sick. I don't feel so good either, ta tell the truth. I don't think nobody else is left. I told them, I _said _we should'a got on those flights, but... Well, I can't just sit here when the Health Center's right down the street, so I'm gonna sit tight 'til sunrise in case any of ya'll can get in touch, and I'm gonna make a break for it while I can sti-"

The frequency went flat, and the streetlamps flickered and faded, block by block with a series of soft thumps. The power in Mobile County was finally out.

"Stupid kids," Coach muttered, and turned the wheel sharply. They were pressed sideways with the momentum, crushing Ellis into the door and sending the gunbag sliding sharply into his leg. He winced, regretting having slept with his shoes off.

"This is a mistake, Coach. A goddamn mistake. I'm waking them up." Nick muttered and righted himself from the sudden movement, reaching around to shake Rochelle's leg.

"No need." The woman murmured and shook her hair back before tying it into her usual ponytail. "We heard it. And I agree with Coach. We should help them."

"That's my baby girl," Coach said, ignoring the scowl Nick was directing at them. "You awake too, Ellis? Vote hangs on you."

He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair before replacing it. He could definitely see why Nick was reluctant. The University was in Mobile. Mobile was a big city, no doubt crawling with infected (or 'Zebra', as the case may be- he assumed it was a codename). He was also pretty damn sure that they were long past Mobile now, judging from the roadsigns. That would be a big burden on their dwindling gas supply...

But what kind of man would he be, to leave good people in distress if he had any way of helping? He nodded, smiling sheepishly at the reluctant conman.

"Sorry Nick. I figure if we can help 'em, we should."

"Fine." He replied curtly, and shrugged. "But if I die, I am not going to be merciful when I'm haunting you guys. I'm sending every goddamn Tank I can find your way."

"Deal." Coach shook the man's hand with a smile, and put his foot down.

* * *

By the time they reached the campus the sun was already threatening to peer over the top of the sparse trees that lined the road. Ellis could no longer ignore the sick, sinking feeling in his gut; it was really putting him off of the energy bar that Ro had insisted he eat.

After the first twenty or thirty zombies he had killed, it had become easier to think of them more like wandering, violent hunks of meat than actual people. People who might have families out there, wondering whatever happened to them. People with a horrible, sickeningly final illness; people who were delirious and dying, to whom death would be the only release from their horrific existence as neither human nor animal, living nor dead.

He usually found that simply not think about it was the best, and easiest option. It had been easy at first, gunning down those people. He had, for a while, forced himself to believe that it had even been fun, though it made him sick to his gut to admit that. But he told himself that they only did what they must to survive, after all- though he knew that he wasn't the only one who always aimed for the head if he could, despite it being a smaller target. He could, at the very least, give them a painless death.

Of course, empathy would be a huge weakness when you were in the thick of an attack and had them clawing at your flank faster than you could shoot them down. He had noticed that his companions all had different ways of coping with it. His personal preference was distraction; constant references to his old life, his old friends. Keith stories. It cheered him up to think of them, and he liked to think that it cheered the others up too, or at least give them something different to think about.

Nick's method was to take on the role of alpha male; dehumanize them, call them names when they ran away and compete to see who could take out the most when they were rushed by a horde. Anger was another, one that Coach seemed to employ frequently, as if beating their heads in with a bat until they stopped twitching would somehow bring back everything that had been lost. And Rochelle, well, she just seemed to tell herself 'This isn't happening' so often that maybe she really believed it.

It was so bizarre to actually stop and think about what they were doing. When he thought about the soldiers that Nick had shot, too. At the time he had been elated, but now he had time to think (and goddamn, did he hate having time to think)... He couldn't exactly justify being pissed off at Nick, given that he'd saved their lives, but he _did _feel pissed off on the soldier's behalfs. A little bit. Though he had a feeling that if he had he seen their faces he would be feeling a _lot_ more strongly about it.

But now they had heard that girl's desperate plea on the radio, and made an undeniably human connection with her. He knew that they were going there to try to save her life, and should they fail there was no way that any defence mechanism was going to work. Though, if she had kept her word to leave at sunrise, they were probably just on their way to find a corpse. Or, judging by how sick she sounded, a zombie.

The others must be harbouring similar thoughts, he figured. Not a word had passed between them since a few miles back, when Nick had pointed out that the sun had risen and they might as well not waste any more gas. Ellis honestly thought that he was going to have to choose between staying with Coach and Ro or footing it with the gambler, because Coach looked just about ready to drop kick Nick out of the car. The man had been growing uncharacteristically agitated as time slipped from their grasp.

Ellis would have gone with Nick, he knew. He liked Coach and Ro a whole lot, but he could never leave the guy by himself, and he doubted that Ro would leave Coach- besides, he liked Nick a lot too. But he was glad he didn't have to choose, and only the conman's pride was hurt; for now, at least.

"Over there." Rochelle looked up from the GPS unit and pointed to a side road, breaking their silence. Wordlessly, Coach nodded and made the left turn, giving a wide berth to a Witch sobbing in the bushes at the side of the road. No common infected rushed at them; a good sign despite the ill omen of the Witch, though what else may be hiding behind the thinning poplars and trampled box hedges was anyone's guess.

Ellis didn't like how quiet it was. It only gave him more to think about.

The buildings, new and undoubtedly pristine only a few short weeks ago, were now a wreck. Graffiti and blood coated the stylish white panelled walls like a rising slime, and the burnt bodies of infected and uninfected alike took their eternal rest on the cold tarmac of the parking lot. Fat, lazy bugs flew between them, ready for a day of engorging upon the bloated tissues and the thick, oily liquids that they leakec. A single tattered and bloodied cloth banner hung by one corner from the roof of the building; it rolled and flapped in slow defiance at the cold breeze, a white flag for a dead stronghold.

Coach sighed solemnly at the pitiful and familiar sight before them, and took up his sniper rifle.

"That sign says that the saferoom's on the top floor. Let's roll."

They each rose and followed him to the base of the bile-encrusted fire escape, stepping over pools of congealed blood and unidentifiable chunks of flesh. As they ascended into the unknown, Ellis attempted to push his troubled thoughts aside. It was no different to any other time, he reassured himself. All they had to do was survive, the same as always. Survive, and keep moving.

He still felt sick though.


	7. A Fragile Gift

The silence was _really _beginning to piss Ellis off now. The building had looked deceptively small from the outside, but inside was a maze of dim slate-blue corridors, lecture theatres, back rooms and dead ends. Even the arrows that guided them along the path to the saferoom seemed to be mocking them; despite never having strayed from their directions, the faces of the people that they were stepping over were beginning to look awfully familiar. At least there weren't any infected around, he figured, though the shadows that flitted in the corners of his vision and the squeaky echoes of their footsteps on the tiled floor could almost convince him otherwise.

After more corridors, more stairs, more dead ends and reaching the end of a particularly long hall, they came to a fork in the path. An un-signposted fork. Great.

"Well, that's college students for you." Nick smirked, hands in his pockets. "Anyone got a coin to flip? Ten bucks says it's to the left."

Ellis frowned with mild annoyance. He really did like the guy, and wanted to believe that this was just his way of coping with the carnage that was their new lives, but some days it seemed like he was just pushing their buttons for the sake of it. His annoyance only intensified when he saw that Nick wasn't even _holding_ his weapon.

Coach had noticed too. He glowered at the conman for a few seconds before opening his mouth, at which point, not wanting the situation to escalate, Ellis quickly quashed his annoyance and stepped between them.

"Come on ya'll, don't be agonizing eachother..." He pleaded awkwardly, and scratched the back of his neck with the barrel of his pistol. He turned to Rochelle, oblivious to her cringing at his casual use of a loaded weapon. "Ro, why don'tcha take Nick down the left path, and Coach and I'll go down the right? That way nobody's gonna end up shootin' eachother, if y'know what I mean."

"I don't know about that." She said darkly, glancing at Nick. "If there's any trouble we'll be at a big disadvantage. And I might just end up shooting Nick myself if he keeps _that _attitude up." The conman snorted derisively, and she very deliberately looked away from him, sucking her teeth. "What do you think Coach? _Nick?_"

Nick made a circle with his fingers and placed them above his head in a halo gesture. Coach muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'My ass' in his direction and shook his head. Leaning his rifle against the grime covered wall, he unslung his baseball bat from it's makeshift holder before replacing the gun there.

"We ain't got time to waste. Just have to be on our guard." He grumbled. "We'll meet back here in ten minutes if we ain't found anything. Otherwise, whoever gets here first can come find the others."

After taking a minute to split the grenades, melee weapons and ammo evenly between them, Ellis and Coach headed off down the right arm of the hall. As luck would have it, they soon hit the back of the building. The roof was much higher here, and the ceiling to floor length holes where the windows had once been made for much quicker movement across the debris, and also helped to dissipate the sweet, dank smell somewhat.

They continued for a few minutes in silence. Coach walked quickly, looking straight ahead; everything about his posture telling that he was still angry. It was more than a little uncomfortable. That, coupled with the added pressure of not having Rochelle and Nick present _and _his nerves about what they might find when they reached their goal, was more than enough to make Ellis tense. Tense enough that he could bear it no longer. He took a deep breath through his nose, as one might take before diving head first into water.

"I always wanted to go to college," He cringed a little when his voice came out louder than he had expected, and bounced around the walls. Luckily, no zombies answered. He didn't look to see whether Coach was listening or not, instead stopping to drag his fingers over a spray painted depiction of a Puma.

"Would'a done Engineering," He continued. "I was gonna be an Engineer like my Uncle Joel, ever since I was a kid. He took me and Keith up on this skyscraper he helped maintain for my tenth birthday, and man, it was awesome. Apart from when Keith tried climbing down over the side, and they had to call these guys with all this abseiling equipment to come get him back up again." He chuckled at the somewhat fabricated memory, now counting the beast's imposing purple whiskers. It wasn't a bad picture, he thought, despite the Puma's lazy eye. Coach was a little way ahead, but an appreciative snort showed that he had been listening. Gladdened by this sign, Ellis quickened his pace a little to bring them level to eachother.

"So why didn't you go?" The older man asked. He was smiling now, though the hard glint in his eye remained. Ellis breathed a brief internal sigh of relief and sucked on his top lip, forming an answer. He hadn't ever really considered why; it had just never come to be.

"Weeeell... My grades weren't so good." He offered with a rueful grin. "I think I got like, a one-point-three GPA or some shit. I probably shoulda studied some, but I ain't really got the attention span for none of- Hey, there's an arrow!" He pointed to the faint but unmistakable orange symbol on the wall, nearly obscured under what appeared to be a chemical burn.

Coach's reply was interrupted by a low growl.

They turned slowly to look. An infected stood frozen, peering warily around the corner at them through black and yellow eyes, its posture lowered and tense like an animal torn between fight or flight. There wasn't a drop of blood on it's translucent grey skin or teal college hoodie. Even it's hair was tied back into a neat ponytail with a butterfly clip at the side, and one hand still clutched a white and green striped pharmacy bag.

"I think we found Winchester." Coach sighed, tension deflating into sorrow and pity.

Her gaze snapped from Ellis to Coach, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw some recognition in her eyes.

They were too late. Not that they could have helped her anyway.

"Come here, sweetheart."

Ellis pulled his eyes away from Winchester to look at Coach- despite not being fifteen feet away from her, he was lifting his sniper rifle and pressing his eye to the scope. No room for error.

Uncertainly, the girl approached. Curiously. Trustingly. With childlike movement, she reached out her hand to them.

Ellis didn't even hear Coach pull the trigger.

* * *

The sound of gunfire soon brought Nick and Rochelle to them. They each stood in numb silence for a while, side by side, watching her bleed out onto the tiles.

"Well," Nick said brightly and rubbed his hands together. Ellis felt his stomach drop to his knees.

"I hate to say I told you so, bu-"

Rochelle shrieked and dropped her Katana as Coach decked Nick clean across the face, sending him falling flat on his back.

"Whoa whoa, steady now Coach-" Ellis grabbed his arm, fearful that he might try to take another swing, but he simply stood over Nick like a male lion over a scorned cub.

"I've done this too many times now Nick, to be worryin' about your bullshit on top of it." He said, voice soft but menacing. "You come back to me when you've had to shoot all the people you ever loved, and then you tell me you're a man. 'Cause right now, all I see in you is a nasty, little shit piece of a boy."

And with that he turned on his heel and snatched the pharmacy bag up from the ground, stalking away from his stunned companions towards the saferoom.

Rochelle knelt next to Nick, pulled his hand away from his reddened face and slapped him.

"JESUS Rochelle, come o-"

"You DESERVE it!" She snapped, and left after Coach.

Nick snarled and sat upright, rubbing his face. Ellis folded his arms with a frown, chewing on his tongue and watching Nick gingerly run his fingers across his face. The gambler glanced up at him and returned a scowl. "What, you wanna take a swing at me too, Overalls? You might as fucking well. _Shit_."

Ellis sighed and tipped his head back, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood for Nick's bullshit either. But giving him a hiding wasn't going to help.

Sullenly, he sat down and shrugged his med pack off of his shoulders to unzip it, rummaging through for a cold pack. The conman watched moodily, cradling his swollen jaw as Ellis squinted at the instructions and gently squeezed the bag to start the chemical reaction. It filled almost instantly with bitingly cold fluid.

"Why do you gotta be such an ass, Nick..." He asked wearily, and gently pressed the pack to Nick's face. Nick hissed at the cold and batted his hand away before snatching the pack back and reapplying it.

"Because the hypocrisy makes me _sick._" He growled, and shook his head angrily. "We've killed thousands of those things, and not _once _have any of you given a fuck until today. I didn't see any of you weeping or punching me when I saved our asses from those soldiers, either."

"That was different." Ellis said with a warning tone in his voice, though he immediately regretted it. He knew that wasn't true. What's more, he knew that Nick knew that he knew.

"What the fuck ever." Nick murmured, and sighed. He rolled his body forwards to rest his uninjured cheek on his palm and fell quiet.

Ellis zipped his med pack back up and stood, ready to leave the gambler to wallow in the bed he'd made for himself. He had barely taken a step before he felt a firm pressure around his ankle. He looked down.

"Do you _at least _understand where I'm coming from, Ellis? Because if _you _think I'm crazy, then I definitely know I have a problem."

He blinked a few times. As much as he didn't want to validate Nick's attitude, he couldn't lie. And he certainly couldn't just leave, at least until Nick let go.

"Yeah." He admittedly shortly. "But you're still an ass."

Nick smiled grimly and looked away, nodding. Apparently satisfied, he let go.

* * *

With some trepidation, he opened the red steel door that separated the saferoom from the outside world. If Nick was following he sure was keeping his distance, but Ellis guessed that it was probably more likely that he was still sitting on the floor, nursing his pride.

The room had obviously been some sort of recording-facility-come-broadcasting-hub. Wires, microphones and tables full of switches and dials lined the walls, though they were mostly obscured by heaps of clothes, blankets and junk. A single red emergency bulb cast a harsh, dull glow across the room, though it was just enough that he didn't have to waste any of the battery in his flashlight to pick his way through the piles of stuff on the floor.

Rochelle and Coach didn't look up at his approach. They were sitting on the floor towards the back of the narrow room, facing away from him. A low gurgle reminded him that Winchester had not been alone.

He sat down between them. Coach's face was blank and tired. In one hand he held the pharmacy bag, and in the other, the hand of the brown haired boy who was laid out on the floor in front of them. The boy's skin glistened with sweat even in the low light, and his eyes were glazed and sunken. As his hollow gaze settled on him Ellis swallowed hard, and found himself wishing that he had stayed outside with Nick.

"Katie?" The boy whispered in a rasping hiss. "Is that you?"

It took him a second to realise that the boy – '_Jake, was it?'_ He wondered - was referring to him. He felt his eyebrows rise - he was pretty sure that he looked _nothing _like the girl - and was about to correct him when Rochelle's elbow collided with his ribs. She looked at him pointedly, and frowned in concentration before whipping the mechanic's hat discreetly off of his head.

"Yeah, it's me. How're you feelin'?" She said, in a surprisingly accurate Southern accent. Despite the situation Ellis had to fight the sudden urge to laugh- it was so bizarre to hear that voice coming from Rochelle.

Then the boy smiled weakly, and it hit him. Rochelle was only trying to give the man a peaceful death, with someone he knew by his side.

He felt like just about the biggest asshole he'd ever felt in his life.

"I reckon I'm too far gone now, sweetheart." Jake croaked. "You should go... A'fore I turn into one of 'em, y'know? I think I heard guns..."

"I'm stayin' with you." Rochelle responded flatly, and gently touched her hand to his face. He didn't seem to be aware of Coach's presence- or Rochelle's, apart from her voice. His skin was already beginning to blotch and grey, and the whites of his eyes were veining black. Ellis had never seen somebody turn before, but he didn't look like he had very long left to go.

"Well, when you do go, take my guitar, okay?" He said weakly. "I don't want it to go to waste... Maybe you can learn to, to-" A hacking cough interrupted him, and Coach pulled him gently onto his side to stop him from choking. He gasped for air around the phglem that choked him, chesty coughs and dry heaves coming in relentless waves and water streaming from his eyes. Rochelle ran her hand soothingly through his hair until the coughing died down. He rolled onto his back, gasping.

"I, love you, Katie." He said weakly, still battling for breath, and stared up at Ellis. Ellis stared back.

"I love you too Jake." Rochelle answered, and he smiled. With a few last shuddering breaths his suffering ended.

Rochelle stood immediately and backed away, pistol aimed at his head.

"If it's the same to ya'll, I don't really think I wanna see him die again." Ellis mumbled, and pulled himself to his feet. Coach gave him a pat on the back.

"Don't worry none, Ellis. He's dead already."

Nonetheless, the sound of the pistol firing as he walked back down the hall to Nick felt like it hit him in the chest.

* * *

"You forgot these."

Ellis looked up from Betsy's trunk to face Rochelle, wondering what on earth he could have forgotten. He smiled when he saw; in her outstretched hand was his hat, and in her other, an acoustic guitar. He took the hat happily, but eyed the instrument with some caution.

"Was that, uh-"

"Well, it's got 'To Jake, Love from Katie' engraved on the back, so I'm guessing that it's the right one." She smiled, and held it out to him. "You play, right, _Katie_?"

He took the instrument in his hands and ran his fingers gently over the strings. It was a warm sound. A nice sound.

"I ain't played anything but bass for like, _years._" He said with a grin. "But yeah, I can knock out a few tunes."

"Good," Rochelle said, and dumped her Katana and SMG down in the trunk. "I think after today, we're going to need something to lighten the mood."

He chuckled in agreement. The tension between Nick and Coach was still enough to make him want to bang his head into a wall, but hopefully it would heal in time. He didn't really like to think about what might happen if it didn't. Nick and Coach were both too strong minded to ever concede that the other might be in the right, though Coach at least usually had the grace to ignore Nick. It seemed to Ellis that there had been something about today that had triggered him- or many things, if his words were anything to go by.

But really, he couldn't regret what they had done today. Even if they hadn't been able to stop their deaths, they had still ended the suffering of two innocent people. And at least the rest of the day had no chance of getting any worse.

The wind picked up suddenly and blew his hat off of his head, into a pile of festering organs.

Well, shit.


	8. Sick Ride

As Betsy greeted them with a loud knocking sound as soon as her engine turned over, Ellis was forced to concede that, yes, the day could get worse.

He squatted on hands and knees in front of the bumper, trying in vain to avoid kneeling in anything human, and took in a deep sniff of air. The putrid stench of the bodies and fluids that sat oozing around him masked it somewhat, but he knew the odour too well to doubt it: motor oil. A large puddle of the viscous, black fluid was staining the road surface beneath the car. Of course, the parking lot was covered in black ooze- mainly congealed blood, but unless he wanted to get on his back under the car to see for himself (he did not), he was going to have to make a diagnosis from this particular puddle of glop.

He screwed his face up in disgust and dipped his fingers into the thick substance. The texture was certainly a match for oil, rather than congealed blood. Hesitantly, he held the fingers closer to his nose and sniffed. Yeah. It was definitely oil.

"Sorry guys." He said glumly, and stood. He leant back against the hood and wiped his hands off on the legs of his overalls- they were pretty much a lost cause even before the apocalypse, so he didn't figure that it would matter too much.

"Looks like the oil's nearly all leaked out." He explained, motioning towards the black spill. "I'm bettin' it was that goddamn Tank pushin' it around, seein' as these are designed to go over rough ground an' all. Must've punctured the oil pan."

"Great. But you can fix it, right?" Rochelle questioned from her perch on a nearby railing. Coach and Nick sat on either side of her, each wearing a worried expression. Any hostility towards the gambler was now firmly on the back burner in the face of this new trial; at least that was something good, Ellis figured.

He rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. It was a job he'd done before, plenty of times- for slow leaks, anyway - usually for people who had driven over deep potholes, or gone offroad in a car that wasn't suited to that kind of terrain. It was a pretty quick fix, and they'd usually have their car back by the end of the day, or, at the very most, the end of the week. But doing any kind of mechanical work with no tools, parts, manufacturer's instruction manuals or equipment to hand, and in the middle of a zombie infested city no less, was an entirely different matter. He shook his head.

"Well, it ain't a slow leak, so it must be a big hole. And to fix a big hole, I'd have to weld it. And to do that I'd have to clean all the oil out properly first or it'd catch fire, and to do _that _I'd have to send it off to Dave's buddy Blake over in Garden City who does all that cleaning shit for us. So naw, I can't really fix it." He ended lamely with an apologetic shrug, and gently petted the well beaten chassis. "Sorry Betsy. Y'been a pleasure, girl."

Rochelle leant her forehead against her palm and sighed, though Nick and Coach remained stoic. Having covered much of the road from Georgia to Louisiana on foot they were no strangers to walking, but without a vehicle they would doubtlessly need to leave a lot of their supplies behind. What would have taken twenty minutes in Betsy would now more than likely _at least _take them the rest of the day.

Coach patted Rochelle encouragingly on the back. His mood had risen slightly since they got out of the dark building, probably due to the fact that Nick had remained reasonably quiet. The half eaten bag of marshmallows nestled in his gloved hand may also have had something to do with it.

"Here's how Coach sees the situation," He said, and slid carefully off of the railing. He held the marshmallow bag out to Ellis, who gratefully took a large handful and stuffed all of them into his mouth.

"We're about ten miles from the bay." He said, motioning towards the east. "If we just take the lighter guns and split the food between us, carryin' it won't be so bad. Then we just gotta find a boat, and it'll be clean sailin' from there."

Ellis couldn't help but glance to Nick. This was usually the point in the conversation where Nick, ever the pessimist, would point out the flaw in the plan- but he was too busy polishing one of his gold rings with his jacket sleeve. His focus on the band was far too deliberate to be anything _but_ a statement. '_I am not listening. Do what you want.'_

Rochelle had noticed too. She folded her arms across her chest and frowned at the asphalt, thinking; and apparently resigned herself to fulfilling Nick's necessary role as the resident Debbie Downer.

"We're in the middle of the third most densely populated city in Alabama." She stated, tapping her fingers on her bangle. "It's high noon... We have water, but only in five gallon bottles, so we can't carry a lot of it. And unless any of you have been here before, we only have the GPS to guide us."

"How about we just find another car?" Ellis offered. "No offence t'you, Betsy."

"By the time we find a car and gas it up, we might as well walk to the bay." Coach said, waving a hand dismissively. "Folks down this way had more time to prepare than we did in Savannah. I'd bet there'll probably be less infected, and _more _safe houses along the way. Think of it as a spot a' sight-seein'."

"Well now, that don't sound so bad after all." Ellis said with a wide grin. "Y'got my vote, Coach."

"And mine. I don't think we have a lot of choice." Rochelle added. "I guess it was too much to hope that we wouldn't have to kill any more infected after all. What do you say, Nick?"

The conman glanced up from his ring briefly and shrugged.

"You can't carry shit and shoot at the same time." He said flatly. "Unless you want a Witch to catch you. Remember, Overalls?"

Ellis cringed at the memory. Whilst they had been gunning down a horde at the sugar mill back in Ducatel, an infected had torn through the strap securing the gas can to his back and it had fallen and bounced off of a ledge. It landed right next to a Witch. They couldn't risk taking the Witch out with the can sitting right next to her- they knew from experience that a gas can next to an enraged Witch was a good way to set her on fire, but they _needed_ that gas - so Ellis had climbed down to get it. Sometimes he'd still wake up choking on the phantom water in his lungs and throat and feel her dead weight on top of him, spindle sharp claws ripping the fading purple scars on his chest open anew.

"Okay, well, how about two carry supplies an' two arm themselves like normal?" Ellis suggested, pulling himself firmly back to reality. "We can always just find some quiet lil' port town t' drop in on if we run outta food."

"That's you and Nick gunning then!" Coach said with a short bark of laughter. "You've got the best stamina for bashin' in heads, and Nick's our best shooter. You okay playing pack mule with me, baby?"

"Fine by me." Rochelle said with a wry smile. "I'll go fire up the GPS and see where the nearest marina is."

Ellis would have liked to have volunteered to do the carring in Rochelle's place, him being stronger one and all, but he didn't get the feeling that that suggestion would go down too well with the producer. She ducked around to the trunk to dig the GPS and most vital supplies out, where Coach and Ellis joined her.

Nick stayed quiet.

* * *

It was actually a pretty good setup Ellis reckoned, as he sent the head of a lone wandering infected flying from it's body with a swing of his new guitar. It was surprisingly sturdy, and he enjoyed the sound that it made as it connected. Coach and Rochelle were still carrying the pistols that they all kept fully loaded in case of emergencies as well as the supplies, whilst he and Nick had a mix of weapons suited both to close range combat and picking off strays from afar. What's more, after fiddling with the device a little Rochelle had unearthed a business locating function on the GPS. There was a boat storage facility located not five miles from the university, on a small tributary of the Dog River. Not only was it closer than Mobile Bay, being to the south east meant that they had no need to walk through the middle of the City.

Of course, the suburbs were not completely devoid of life, if life you could call it. But that was to be expected. For the most part they stuck to the road and moved quickly past any groups of infected that numbered larger than four or five so as to not be overwhelmed. The houses and apartments were set fairly well back from the side of the street, so avoidance wasn't too difficult.

After climbing over a small pileup of cars at a once busy intersection, they continued to follow the road down towards their destination. A line of tall palms stood quietly to the left side of the road. On the right side was a large drainage ditch, and after that a flat area of scrub sat before an empty mall parking lot. The afternoon sun cast an inviting haze over the roof of the building, though the screeching sounds coming from it's direction were less than calming- a tuft of black smoke rising from the eastern side suggested that a fire was taking hold.

"Well, look here," Coach said, and dropped his bag to the floor. He motioned to a billboard on the patch of grass by the ditch. "What do ya'll suppose this means?"

Rochelle and Nick stepped forward to take a closer look, but Ellis hung back twenty feet or so, squinting through the harsh light to the mall's doors. If any infected came out, running from the flames, _he _wanted to know about it. He took a few steps closer to the ditch to get a better view.

"Just some crazy rantings." Rochelle remarked offhandedly. "We're in prime Baptist country. They'll blame _anything_ on gay people."

Those words pricked Ellis's attentions. He shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand and looked up at the billboard.

The sign was actually an advertisement for formula milk, featuring a smiling baby cuddled to it's mother's breast. To the left of the baby's head were some neatly painted words: 'PEDO FAGS HAVE BROUGHT HELL TO EARTH. PRAISE THE LORD, WHO HATH WASHED AWAY OUR SINS WITH THE BLOOD OF JESUS HIS SON, AND WHO NOW WITH THE BLOOD OF THE SINNERS HE SHALL DO SO AGAIN. PRAISE HIS MERCY AND HIS WRATH. LEVITICUS 20:13.'

"Remind me again why I usually stay away from the South? Aside from the poor use of grammar." Nick muttered, and attempted to reload his hunting rifle. He swore loudly as the bolt jammed.

Ellis shifted on his feet uncomfortably. That kind of fire and brimstone talk reminded him of his Father.

Then a Jockey collided with his face.

He hadn't even heard it coming- _why? _He wondered frantically, staggering under it's weight. He threw himself to the right to try to keep balance. Nick cursed loudly again and Ellis thought he heard him throw his gun to the ground and begin to run over- Rochelle and Coach's pistol rounds sang through the air to his sides as they shouted at him to stay to the left, away from the ditch, but he could not resist the dead weight throwing itself to the right. One bullet knocked him a few steps backwards as it connected with the Jockey's thigh. The creature, now giggling manically, scraped it's long fingers and toes across his face and swung around, hanging by it's hands from his neck, using his body as a shield. Nick was only a few feet away- their eyes met for a split second before Ellis staggered and fell backwards with the Jockey's weight- backwards into the ditch. His head collided on a hard surface with a sharp crack.

"ELLIS!" was the last thing he heard before the Jockey pulled out from beneath him and started cackling, grinding itself roughly into his face, smothering him in darkness and cold flesh.


	9. An Odd Comfort

"Nick, he's _choking,_ roll him over!"

"_Shit-"_

"No, don't move 'im, careful'a his spine! Keep it still!"

"Coach, did you _miss_ the part about him asphyxiating on his own puke-"

A surge of adrenaline hit Ellis like a freight train and his chest felt as though it was collapsing in on itself. He couldn't see. Couldn't think. He gasped for air but there was none.

And then he was choking, and vomiting and heaving until his whole body was trembling and sore and weak with the effort of it, and his own retching was all he could smell and hear and feel.

He gasped, over and over until he felt dizzy with it. Slowly, his mind and sight began to return with his oxygenated blood. Anxious voices swam through the air above him, but he could not pick out their words. His vision was no more than a dim, blurry white light, and he became aware of a nearly unbearable pain swelling at the back of his head. He coughed a few more times, pathetically.

"Where does it hurt, Ellis?"

Nick? That was Nick's voice. But where was he?

"Muh heeiid..." He groaned thickly. Two fingers opened his mouth, and he felt the familiar dryness of a pain pill on his tongue. Despite the rawness in his throat he forced himself to swallow it- anything to help the pain that was threatening to tear his skull open. The firm pressure that was suddenly applied to the back of his head did not help; he whimpered.

"How 'bout your back? Can y' feel your legs?"

Coach's voice came this time, urgent but not as close as Nick's. Though, that could just be because of the deafening buzz in his ears. It felt like someone had put an out of tune TV in his head and left it on full volume.

"Jus' ubid col..." He slurred. His awareness of his surroundings was beginning to kick back in now- he was pretty sure that he was still in the ditch, the contorted pink mass next to him was the dead Jockey... And he had just hurled all over Nick's suit.

Wonderful.

"M' sorry, Nick..." He whined weakly, and rolled onto his back, facing up. Coach and Rochelle were still at the top of the ditch a good eight feet above, and his head was rested on Nick's knees. Nick snorted in annoyance, but no sarcastic comment was forthcoming.

"Oh, _Ellis_... Are you okay? Can you still move?" Rochelle waved down at him sympathetically, her face hard and tight with fear. _Why?_ He wondered- the Jockey was dead, right? He managed a weak wave back to reassure her, though he didn't feel quite up to nodding, so substituted with a thumbs up and a small smile.

His view of Rochelle and Coach was obscured as Nick leant over him. He could smell the man's fading cologne and feel the smooth pads of his thumbs gently pulling his eyelids down- checking for concussion or shock or something, he guessed. He laid still and passive, despite the strong urge to blink, and focussed his vision on a hangnail on the gambler's left pinky. They seemed kinda worried, he thought. The idea that he might be permanently damaged crossed his mind before he quickly dismissed it- that couldn't possibly happen to him.

Could it?

"Nick, you stay with 'im. We'll go see if we can find you a change of clothes up in the Mall." Coach's voice came. He felt Nick's shirt tug slightly by his ear as he nodded, and heard the gun bag unzip. Then Rochelle and Coach's footsteps were fading, and he was alone with Nick in a ditch, a dead zombie and a pile of puke.

Nick, who was usually as fastidiously clean as he could justify being whilst the larger part of their daily lives involved being covered in organs, was sitting in a ditch with him. All covered in puke.

Not Boomer puke, either. _His _puke...

Ellis wasn't one to laugh at things that weren't funny, and he was reasonably sure that this was one of those situations. But it was just so... Bizarre. He tilted his head back gingerly and looked Nick in the eye with a lopsided grin. The Gambler stared back down at him, stony faced. Ellis quickly lifted his hand to his face to muffle a laugh, but failed by only managing to punch himself on the nose.

"What are you laughing at, you whack job?" Nick muttered and pulled his hand away. "Can you at least sit up?"

"Should I?" Ellis chuckled, blinking up at him. "Coach said t-"

"Coach might have taught health class, but I know what a broken neck looks like. This isn't it." He paused, frowning. "Don't ask me how I know that."

Ellis stretched his arms out behind his head, loosening the aching muscles in his abdomen. Nick watched him, still frowning. Slowly he reached out to grab a tuft of hoary grass to pull himself up by, and with a large degree of effort and a helpful tug on his arm from Nick, he managed to prop himself up against the opposite side of the ditch. His vision felt more or less normal now, although the ringing in his ears hadn't subsided. He shifted a little to the left to prevent his knees from bashing into his companion and laid back, resting his head in the cool grass.

Nick peeled his vomit stained suit jacket off and set it beside him before removing his equally stained shirt. He then picked both of them up between a finger and thumb and flung them a few feet down the ditch in disgust, his hygiene apparently a priority over the expense of the clothing. Ellis cracked his eyes open a little to watch him.

Ellis had seen Nick naked before. Hell, he'd seen Coach, and even Rochelle naked too; you soon got over those kinds of sensibilities when faced with a choice between getting changed in a saferoom, and getting changed outside with the zombies. He had always been very careful to avert his eyes as much as possible whenever any of his companions were undressed, and they had afforded him the same courtesy. But on this occasion- maybe it was the bump to the head, maybe it was the endorphin rush from the pills- he found himself staring at Nick. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, nor could he look away. As Nick pulled a stick from a clump of turf and began to poke the Jockey's corpse away from them, Ellis stared intently at the man's toned chest. It had a wispy coating of dark hair over it, unlike his own- maybe that was what intrigued him? But no... His eyes dropped down to the bottom of his ribcage, slightly overdefined from their lack of time to eat and rest. Then his gaze fell to the abdomen, and the trail of hair that led from beneath his pants up to his navel.

_Ah._

"Yer an outie." He stated with a triumphant grin. Nick, who had been watching Ellis's slack jawed surveyal of his body with amusement, raised an eyebrow.

"So am I. See?" Ellis continued with giddy excitement, and lifted his own shirt. He poked his protruding bellybutton for emphasis.

"Jesus. Christ." The conman said simply, and massaged his forehead with his fingertips. Ellis only continued to beam, pleased with his observation. The pill was definitely kicking in, he reckoned; he was hardly sore at all now, and even his thoughts felt like they were loosening up.

He glanced over to the body of the Jockey, now rolled over onto it's back a few feet away. Its black hair was matted and rough with blood, leaves and earth, and only thing that remained of its clothing was a silver chain around it's neck. Evidently, Nick had hit it over the back of the head to kill it. A bloody rock lay next to the corpse, though he wasn't sure if it was the Jockey's blood that coated it or his own. It leered up at him with it's dead eyes, blood mixed with phglem still seeping from it's broken nose.

When Ellis's eyes followed the disfigured contorts of its body down past it's concaved chest and abdomen, he saw that it's nose wasn't the only part of its anatomy that was seeping.

"Holy shit, Nick..." He said, staring wide eyed in horror at the dead creature's swollen groin. He swallowed hard and recoiled in horror at the memory of the Jockey humping him. "Well, I guess that's why y' never see any girl Jockeys around. Aw _man, _that thing must'a been all over my head..."

Nick sighed and rubbed at the stubble on his jaw.

"Ellis?"

"Yeah?"

The gambler paused, frowning. That immediately rang alarm bells for the mechanic- when did Nick ever hesitate to say _anything?_ He dropped eye contact, and Ellis thought for a second that he might even look a little... Embarrassed?

"About that... I wasn't going to say anything whilst the other two were here, but, you need to wipe your face. It made a mess of it."

It took a few seconds for the words to make sense. Nick watched Ellis's expression change as he looked back and forth from him to the Jockey's protruding organ, connecting the dots. His jaw dropped and his face paled.

"Y'mean, that thing just...

"Yeah, it did."

"With it's-"

"_Yeah_, it did."

"On my _face?_"

Nick thought that the kid was actually going to cry. He looked mortified. His lips were parted, quivering, and his eyes had grown wet. Not that he blamed him- unwanted sexual contact with a zombie would be enough to make _him _cry, too.

He sighed and reached into the pocket of his pants. After rummaging around between his ammo and his house keys (he had _no _idea why he still had those, really) he pulled out a handkerchief and beckoned Ellis closer.

"Come here, I'll clean you off." He muttered. "You'll probably just poke yourself in the fucking eye if you do it yourself."

Ellis leant forward obediently and allowed Nick to wipe the substance off of his jaw and neck. Admittedly, there wasn't much. There was far more blood from his head injury in that general area, but the opportunity to clean the Jockey's... _Fluids_ off in a covert way was now long passed. Nick kicked himself mentally for even bringing it up. Ellis, meanwhile, looked terrible. His face had turned from pale and drained to a deep, flushed crimson, and his breathing had become short and shallow. Nick was not surprised when the younger man jerked away from him.

"M'sorry Nick," Ellis apologised again, his voice cracking. He quickly bowed his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Today sure has been full of shit, huh?"

"Sure has." Nick agreed, gently rubbing his own swollen cheek. Coach sure had a mean left hook, though he was damn certain that he'd take another swing from the football player rather than have a Jockey ejaculate in his face. The mechanic continued to leak and snuffle pitifully.

It was _awkward_.

Nick idly pulled out a tuft of grass and crushed it in his hand, squeezing and rolling it into a tight, damp little ball. He had never been any good with these situations, beyond the 'tough love' approach- though somehow, telling the kid to man up and get over it seemed far too harsh to contemplate. This wasn't to say that he wouldn't be right to tell him that. Emotions had to take a back seat to survival, and none of them could afford for the kid to be both injured _and _moping.

On the other hand; watching the usually sunny, cheerful Ellis weeping like a frightened child just made him want to punch something.

"Look, Ellis," he said softly through gritted teeth, unable to bear it any longer. "It happens to the best of us, okay? Don't worry about it. And stop apologising, geez, it's not like I've never seen you cry before."

"Only when I've been like, half dead." Ellis muttered, and wiped his eyes again from beneath the brim of his hat.

Nick could have voiced the fact that Ellis had never _been _half dead, at least not while they'd known eachother, but that too seemed inappropriate.

The problem was, he knew, that there were plenty of things he _could_ say; but none that he was willing to. He wasn't going to promise the kid that he would watch his back more carefully in the future- that wasn't a promise he could keep, and he didn't want the kid getting complacent. It had been less than a minute of distraction on their parts that had caused Ellis to be attacked off guard, but Nick knew that if they watched each others backs to the exclusion of the environment around them, they'd be dead before sundown. The words on that sign could easily have been a warning from other survivors of an unknown danger on the road ahead.

And he was hardly going to bundle the kid into his arms and tell him that everything would be okay, either. Even if Ellis didn't always act like it, he was a grown man, for fuck's sake.

"Look, Overalls..." He screwed his face up, searching for the words. This was _not _funny. He was pretty sure that he could count the number of times that he'd not known what to say in his life on one hand. Sharp words, a quick wit and charm that oozed from every pore were the primary tools of his trade, after all. And yet here he was. It was so much easier with his ex, he lamented - he could just buy her something pretty to wear and woo her a bit, and she'd be right as rain and like putty in his hands for the night.

Ellis looked up at him glumly through red and puffy eyes, and horked up a drip of snot back into his nose with a throaty slurping sound.

_You fucking. Disgusting. Hick._

But then, it hit him. Ellis wasn't his ex. He couldn't treat him as such and expect him to understand- not that he'd buy Ellis a dress and take him out to dinner anyway. But who knew the kid the best?

In this situation, dare he imagine... _What would Keith do?_

"What I'm saying," Nick continued smoothly, taking a brief second to admire his own genius, "Is that we're Bros. Right?"

The words sounded a little forced, but Ellis didn't seem to notice that. He looked up warily and nodded with a 'Yeah', whilst making another disgustingly raspy nasal sound.

"So..." He hesitated, unsure as if to make the commitment. He didn't do commitments. But then Ellis was staring up at him with those big blue eyes, hanging on his every word as if he could magic everything away and make it better. He cursed the kid mentally, and took the plunge.

"If you ever need something, just ask. Like if you want to talk, or whatever. I don't know. And I'll try to keep a better eye on you until you're healed up." _Now stop fucking crying, _he added mentally.

Ellis looked a little surprised, but he nodded.

"Well, sure, Nick. Thanks."

Nick nodded and let his head fall back into the cool grass. Well, that hadn't been so bad.


	10. Making Headway

Fortunately, it didn't take Coach and Rochelle too long to get back. Whilst Coach helped Ellis to clamber out of the ditch and bandaged his head wound, Nick took the opportunity to get dressed. His mood immediately lifted upon seeing the garments- Rochelle had not only managed to find a near perfect match for the suit jacket, but had also found a shirt in a slightly deeper blue which Nick much preferred to the old one. They soon set off again, though at a slower pace to allow Ellis to keep up. He was still a little uncoordinated.

The mechanic fiddled absently with his guitar on his back, twisting the machine heads in and out of tune. The shock had worn off now, and really, he just felt embarrassed to have broken down like that in front of Nick. He recalled one time a few days ealier, in one of the long hours they had spent in a saferoom back in Savanah. They had discussed the mentality of the infected; whether they remembered that they were human or not, or whether they had any thoughts at all. The conclusion that they had reached was that they were driven purely on animalistic instinct; attack or be attacked, kill or be killed. So if that was the case, it was more like being humped by a dog than by a human being, he told himself. Just like the time where he and Keith had found some cover scent in Keith's garage, and Ellis dared him to rub it over his face. Of course, he knew that 'cover scent' was just a fancy term for 'doe piss', but Keith didn't. Every morning for the following week, he had woken up with his Mom's Yorkshire Terrier humping his head. Keith thought it was hilarious. He always did.

He missed Keith.

But despite his embarrassment, he did appreciate Nick's offer of moral support. He really hadn't expected any kindness from the gambler- neither had he particularly wanted it, but it was damn nice of him to offer. He was even close to wanting to tell Rochelle and Coach so that they could see that, for all Nick's faults, he was a good guy underneath.

And if he was completely honest with himself, he felt a little proud that Nick was finally beginning to reciprocate the friendship that he had been extending to him for all this time.

"Here we go." Rochelle said, and gestured towards a small bridge a little further down the road. Beneath it a canal ran through a concrete river bed, and to the side there was a sign with the words 'GEORGE'S WATERSPORTS' printed in round, friendly letters surrounding a red cartoon fish. Several wooden sailboats were parked unceremoniously on the driveway with not so much as a fence between them and the road, though they were a little too small for what they were looking for.

They crossed the parking lot with some caution. Although the infected were still relatively few and far between, they couldn't afford to be caught off guard again. Coach and Rochelle picked off a few stragglers near the entrance, and they slipped quietly in through the unlocked front door.

The actual store was rather eccentric. Glass fishing floats, surf boards, brightly coloured oars and canoes hung from the sea blue walls in a decorative fashion, and nets full of plastic fish were swathed across the ceiling. A hollow acrylic incarnation of the fish from the sign stood on it's tail just inside the door, with a welcoming smile plastered over its scuffed and faded features. Ellis patted it cautiously on the head before entering.

"It smells like a goddamn aquarium in here." Nick complained. Sure enough a few half empty fish tanks, their pumps long blown out, sat forlornly on a table by the checkout. One of them was at least ten feet wide, and the water was a sickly grey green.

"I had a fish." Rochelle said sadly, gazing over to it. "His name was Bubbles. You can call me crazy, but I _know _he answered to his name when I called it."

"You're crazy." Nick obliged.

"Hey!" Ellis exclaimed; his three companions raised their guns on nervous instinct before whipping round to see where the danger was, but the young mechanic was simply tapping on the glass of a tank on the other side of the room. They collectively sighed in annoyance, but given how close he had come to being seriously injured none of them had the heart to reprimand him for raising his voice needlessly.

"I guess there ain't no zombie fish in here." The mechanic continued obliviously, giving the glass a final tap. "But I tell you what; if ya'll got a fish tank and made a zombie Tank swallow it -" Nick groaned and turned away – "And then y' put the zombie Tank in an army tank, and then put the army tank in a Burger Tank..." He whistled. "That would make me a happy man, to see that. If ya'll wanna do that for me, I'll count it as my Christmas _and _birthday present."

"I'mma hit you on the head again if you don't pipe down, boy." Coach chuckled. He unhooked the length of rope that ran from the wall to the cash register and ducked behind. They watched inquisitively as he ducked down, and started to fiddle with something under the desk. After a small popping noise, he stood up again swinging a small key with a red cork fob on his finger.

"Forget the fish ya'll. We got a boat to catch."

"I know that sound, Coach. You just picked a lock to get to that key, didn't you? Must be my good influence at work." Nick said with a smug smile. Coach snorted and shook his head, though the smile that briefly crossed his face did not escape Ellis's attention.

* * *

The sun was riding low and pale in the sky by the time they managed to break the lock on the gate that the more expensive yachts and speedboats were housed behind. There was what looked like hundreds to choose from, but given that there had only been one key left in the cabinet this was more of a hindrance than a help. Ellis was pretty sure that he didn't want to risk hotwiring a boat in case it set off some kind of alarm and attracted a horde, so Coach and Nick had volunteered to try to find the lot space that matched the printed number on the key fob. Of course, the lots were not numbered in any discernable order. Nick lamented this loudly and repetitively. Meanwhile, Ellis and Rochelle sat on guard by the gate, performing the essential and never ending job of keeping the weapons clean.

"It's been nearly a week, you know."

Ellis looked up from the gun he was polishing to Rochelle. Her eyes were fixed on the gun parts in her lap so he couldn't tell for sure, but he thought that she looked a little sad. He cocked his head inquisitively; it wasn't like her.

"A week since what?" He asked carefully, and dipped a clean rag into the solvent that they had been lucky enough to find in a tool shed hidden behind some tall weeds. The woman sucked on her tongue, concentrating on rubbing the barrel of the shotgun to remove any trace of residue. She turned it carefully in her hands, admiring the sheen, and smiled ruefully.

"A week since everything went to heck in a hand basket. Back in Savannah." She replied, gazing across the lot.

"You sure?" He said, frowning. "Hell, it feels more like _ten_ weeks. You guys are like a second family now, or some shit."

She laughed appreciatively, but was cut short by a string of expletives that exploded from behind a sailboat at the other end of the yard.

"What'cha doing over there, Nicky?" She called out, and gave Ellis a sidelong wink.

"I'm falling _ass over tit_ on the pile of _fucking ropes_ that some _assclown _dumped here, sweetheart. How about you?" The gambler bit back acidly. Rochelle rolled her eyes.

"Do you need me to send Ellis over there to hold your hand?" She replied evenly, eliciting a snort from the mechanic. A single, gold ringed index finger became visible from the top of the boat as he flipped them off.

"But yeah," she continued, turning her attention away from the floundering xonman. "We met on the twenty second, and it took us four days to get to New Orleans. So, that makes today day six."

"Well, goddamn." Ellis said simply. She was right, of course. And six days really wasn't a whole lot of time to get to know people when you were surrounded by zombies, even if you did spend every waking minute in their company. He'd told them a lot about himself, sure; but then, there wasn't an awful lot to say about his life. It had always been pretty simple. When he thought about it, it was sort of weird that he could trust his life to people when he didn't even know their birthdays, their favourite colours, or even...

"_Shit_, Rochelle!" He said, and nearly dropped the various pieces of gun that were resting on his lap to the ground. He grabbed her forearm and looked her dead in the eye, deadly serious. "I don't even know your last name."

"Rochelle Marie Fletcher. Nice to meet you. Though somehow, that name doesn't really feel like it's me anymore." She said, gently shaking his grasp off with a smile. She placed her newly reassembled gun back into the gun bag and sighed. Ellis nodded.

"Ellis Daniel Williams at your service, ma'am. An' I getcha." He said sadly, and began to reassemble his own gun. "Sometimes I feel like, I dunno, like we're some kinda zombie killin' robot things. Which is kinda badass, but, it also kinda sucks."

"That's a pretty good description, yeah."

Rochelle picked up the next gun from the bag and they continued to quietly clean them, each lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

The sun had well and truly set, but the boat was still nowhere to be found.

They took the decision to spend the night in a storage room at the back of the store. It was dark, dank and cluttered with fishing tackle and oxygen cylinders; but it was warm enough for their purposes, and had no windows for any ill intentioned creatures to crawl through. And what's more, whilst looking for supplies in an upstairs office Nick had uncovered a crate of beer. Coach and Rochelle remained unimpressed, but Ellis could quite easily have cheered.

So they found themselves sitting in a small circle, atop the piles of nondescript canvas fabric that littered the storage room floor. The light was generously supplied by a solar powered garden lantern made in the image of the store's fish mascot. Whilst it was better than eating in darkness, it cast a ghoulish green light on their faces and made their meal of cold creamed corn and sliced hotdogs look even more unappetising. Ellis was sure that he wasn't the only one to be glad that it was over when he finished off his last mouthful.

"What a day." Coach said, and stretched his arms over his head. He leant back and rested his large frame against the breezeblock wall.

"Ya'll get as drunk as you want now." He said, motioning to the beer. "Might as well prepare ourselves some for our sailin' careers."

"Don't mind if I do." Rochelle chuckled and took one of the bottles; Nick and Ellis quickly followed suit.

"Hey, Ellis," Nick said, and popped the bottle open with one of the fish shaped bottle openers they had found in a basket at the back of the store. "Here's a game for you, before you start boring us with some fucking campfire story. Do you know how to play 'I like my women'?"

Nick took the mechanic's gormless expression for a no.

"You say, 'I like my women how I like my...' Whatever. Then you say why."

Ellis nodded slowly, still not sure if he fully understood the appeal. Coach chuckled at his glazed look and leant forward to take a beer of his own; Nick handed him the fish-opener.

"The kids at school used to play that." He said, cracking the bottle open and taking a swig before handing the opener to Rochelle. "They'd go, 'I like my women how I like my coffee; strong and black .' Or somethin' like that."

"Oh, I get it." Ellis paused, and glanced around the room, looking for inspiration. Spying a pile of wetsuits in the corner brought a few lewd versions to mind, but he didn't figure that it'd be proper to say anything like that with a lady around. Maybe he could tell Nick later. His gaze fell to the gun bag, and like a lightbulb in a dark room, an idea came to him.

"I like my women how I like my guns." He said, grinning. "Lightweight, strong... With a big butt."

Nick and Coach laughed, and Rochelle giggled behind her hand.

"You catch on pretty quick, Ellis." She said, and took a sip from her beer. "I get the feeling that I'm going to regret Nick teaching you this game before the night is out, though."

The conman grinned devilishly at her and upended the bottle into his mouth; if he could even get a _little _drunk, that would be mission accomplished. It was nasty stuff compared to the expensive wines and spirits he preferred, but so long as it had alcohol in it he was willing to take what he could get. He lowered the bottle and breathed deeply, allowing it's aroma to saturate his senses.

"I like my women how I like my chainsaws," Nick grinned, swirling the beer bottle as you would a fine whisky before raising it in Ellis's direction. "Covered in the blood of my enemies... And turned _on_."

None of them could stop laughing at that one.

It may not have been a great day, Ellis later thought as he settled under his blanket to sleep, but it was already looking brighter. They'd find the boat, and in a week or so, they'd be at the keys and ready to make roots. And from there, well, the world was their zombie-filled oyster.

Even if he had to make it that way on his own, he promised himself: _T__omorrow _will_ be better._


	11. Batten Down the Hatches

The first light of morning brought with it a new perspective. Instead of looking for the boat in the lot, Coach had the idea to go and look down in the canal, and, typically, the key fit the first yacht that they came across. It was a pristine, white and streamlined with tall masts, and at 30 feet in length was just about large enough for them to coexist comfortably. Inside was even nicer; all polished wood and white leather, with two double bedrooms and even a kitchen-come-dining area. According to the vinyl words stuck on the side of the boat, its name was _The Camellia_, but Ellis had already begun to refer to it in his mind as Jimmy Gibbs Jr Jr. It's smooth, sleek lines were certainly more reminiscent of the stock car than they were of the flower.

Once they were smoothly underway Rochelle revealed that, in a moment of brilliance, she had picked them all up a bathing costume back at the mall. Though Coach and Nick declined Ellis was only too grateful to slip into his, although it was a little small for him. Despite it being nearly November the days were still quite warm and sunny, and he knew from experience how uncomfortably hot and sweaty his overalls got when he was outside in strong sunlight. The boardshorts she had picked out for him had a pretty cool tribal hibiscus pattern on them matched his tattoo nicely, too.

He stretched his arms, consciously feeling for every muscle from his abdomen to his wrists as they elongated. The breeze, more prominent at their position at the front of the boat, tussled their hair and soothed their sun warmed skin. Rochelle lay with her bikini-clad rear to him, keeping a relaxed but careful watch on the western shore. Coach, who was complaining of sea sickness, was below deck napping; and Nick stood at the rear of the yacht behind the wheel, guiding it through the steadily widening canal. He had taken them all by surprise by flatly refusing to let Ellis take the role of skipper- not a bad move, judging by how well he was doing at keeping the yacht away from the concrete riverbanks. Ellis was pretty sure that they would have at least scraped the sides a few times had he been steering. But as for now, the only outward signs that set them apart from a normal group of friends going for a sail around the bay were the loaded guns at their sides.

Ellis scratched idly at the scars on his chest and eased himself down onto his towel, mirroring Rochelle's position. A horde of forty or more infected was forming on the eastern bank, their guttural moans piercing the otherwise peaceful morning. He kept a hand on his shotty, scanning the group for any special infected that might try to pick them off from the safety of the group. With some regret he watched as the lives of a few infected close to the bank were snuffed out, unable to stop their rowdy brethren from pushing them off of the bank. It was probably for the best, he thought, watching as they sank without resistance under the clear waters.

A small part of him rejoiced at the sight, but he tried to squash that thought down and ignore it.

* * *

Nick, meanwhile, also had some thoughts that needed squashing.

One involved the increasingly numerous tall clouds that were marching towards them from the horizon. He was no nephologist, but he was pretty sure that big clouds meant big rain. And of all the time's he'd stolen the keys to his Dad's yacht in his youth,none had been in anything but perfect weather. But whatever, que sera sera.

That was less pressing than the other thought. The one about the young woman and the goddamn hick that were sprawled out sunbathing on the deck in front of him. Specifically, how much better they looked without clothes on.

He kind of wanted to die inside, or at least drag Coach up from below deck to give him something less appetizing to look at. Although he was beginning to doubt if that would help. It had been three whole weeks since he'd last gotten laid- the longest he'd been since he was at least sixteen, he was pretty sure – and he wouldn't be surprised if in another week or two even Coach started to look like a viable option. God knows he would never have given Ellis a second thought in any other circumstance.

Then the hick stretched. Nick watched as a drop of perspiration trickled teasingly over the deliciously smooth skin of his neck, down to his chest where it pooled at the dip of his collarbone.

_Goddamnit._

Well, at least he had something to keep his hands occupied. He shrugged his suit jacket off and hung it carefully on a small chrome peg to his side before turning the wheel, following the motion of the water. The yacht had a good half a tank of fuel in it, which should be at least enough to get them away from Mobile. And after that, the sails should do their job.

The hairs on his neck raised, an instinct honed by long years spent watching his back.

He flipped around just in time to see a wafting cloud of green gas hanging above the heads of the infected on the shore, but before his mouth had even opened the Smoker's tongue whipped around his head and pulled him overboard.

"You okay, Nick?" Ellis said in response to the splash, leisurely tipping his head towards the wheel. He squinted against the sunlight, and for a second his heart stopped.

Nick was gone.

"BULLSHIT!" He yelled, and scrambled for his gun- Rochelle was up and on her feet instantaneously, and they pelted towards the stern. Wordlessly, she glanced at him and grabbed the wheel, a visual delegation of tasks. Without hesitation, Ellis hopped the railing and plunged into the water.

Lord, it was cold. It knocked the wind out of him, crushed his chest with desperate pressure. He sacrificed his shotgun, no more than a dead weight in the water, and gulped down a lungful of air as he reached out into a long stroke. Bullets and tense voices rang through the air above him as he came up to breathe again, and he glimpsed a long line of pink a few tens of feet ahead- kicking harder, faster, he strained himself to cover the chasm of water between them, fighting against the tide. His mind blanked until there was no fear, no time; only the water and his own racing heart.

Suddenly, a deep blue flash. Then a white one. His eyes widened, he catapulted himself through the water with a final stroke- and they came face to face.

Ellis had come to admire how Nick always managed to keep his cool. No matter how bad it got, he always had a serene kind of centeredness about him; a readiness to plough through anything that came their way with a spray of bullets, a liberal application of swears and a fuck-'em-all attitude. Nick had never shown any concern that he might get hurt or die, and Ellis had almost believed that he never could.

So to see the plain, unabashed fear in his eyes was just terrifying.

Ellis grabbed the tongue and dug his fingernails in with all his strength- the appendage tensed beneath his touch but did not let go, continuing to reel its prey in. Nick thrashed his legs helplessly, wound up from his mouth to his elbows; Ellis rose to take another deep lungful of air and descended below the man's body, grabbing him around the chest with one arm and forcing his legs to kick through the current to support both of their bodies. Nick's fully clothed weight forced his head under the water, but if it would give his friend a chance to breathe so be it. With his free arm he groped blindly for the end of the tongue- hoping to untwist it, hurt it, do anything to make it let go. Bullets continued to fly overhead, but still the tongue did not relax. Even when, in desperation, Ellis bit down into the tongue and made it leak oily black blood into the water, it did not release it's hold.

Nick's struggling was becoming weaker. _Why the fuck hadn't Coach and Ro shot it yet?_

An idea hit him. He slid his hand down the conman's flank until he came to his holster, and the glock that was, miraculously, still in there. With lightning speed and a thankful prayer he grabbed it, gripped the length of tongue above Nick's head in the other hand and shot it point blank until there was nothing left to shoot and Nick's weight fell into him.

For a moment he panicked at the gambler's stillness, but then Nick started kicking again. Frantically, his chest near to bursting from lack of air, he grabbed the restricting length of tongue around the man's torso. With a swift movement he yanked it off before propelling himself and Nick to the surface, supporting the struggling man in a lifesaver stroke.

Ellis gasped like he had never breathed before in his life, and Nick followed suit.

He was okay. _They _were okay.

Willing his shaking legs to move, he pushed off against the water back in the direction of the yacht, dragging Nick on top of him.

It felt like it only took a fraction of the time to get back. Rochelle and Coach each grabbed one of Nick's arms and hauled him aboard, while Ellis weakly climbed up the ladder. He flopped over onto the deck in exhaustion and did his best to try to cough some of the water out of his throat, listening to Nick's hoarse choking as he apparently did the same.

"Well, goddamn," he gasped. "Y-you okay there, Nick?"

Nick nodded, still wheezing, and Rochelle draped a towel over his shoulders.

"Sorry about that..." She said, frowning as she rubbed Nick's back gently. "We couldn't kill the damn thing. The other infected kept shoving in front and taking all the shots for it."

"I can't believe we got caught with our pants down again." Coach grumbled. He shook his head solemnly and grasped the railing, taking a deep breath to suppress the ill feeling in his gut. "We gotta shape up, or we ain't gonna make it through this shit."

Ellis wiped the water out of his eyes and sat up, hugging his knees to his heaving chest. Coach was right. What's more, it was his fault. He was supposed to have been watching that side of the canal.

_Goddamnit._

But no. He wasn't going to sit there and mope- he'd done _more _than enough of that already, he scolded himself. He was going to man up and _do_ something about it. He swivelled around until he was facing Nick, and habitually reached up to remove his hat before remembering that he had left it in the cabin with the rest of his clothes. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly instead, but caught the edge of his head wound with his fingernail. He winced and quickly lowered the hand.

"Nick... I'm real sorry, man." He apologised, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. Nick's wrath was never a pretty sight, and Lord knows he was deserving of a pretty big serving of it right now.

The breathless conman shot him a confused look. A drip of water ran down his nose and hung there before dropping off as his expression turned to a scowl.

"You just saved my ass." He said bluntly, and rose to his feet with a wobble. Rochelle stepped back as he took his position at the wheel and switched the engine back on. "Call it even from yesterday if you want."

"Okay." Ellis replied, a little surprised that he had gotten off that lightly, and rose to his feet. He extended his hand to the gambler, who regarded it for a second before taking it in his own and giving a small, stiff shake.

"Well then, boys," Rochelle said, "Now that we're all friends again, why don't I sit at the front, and you sit at the back behind Nick, Ellis? We can both watch the sides, and Coach can focus on not puking his guts out."

"Sounds good to me." Coach smiled, and handed his rifle to Ellis. "If ya'll need anything, holler. I'll be sleeping like a Mama bear."

The door closed behind him, and a peaceful silence fell as they took their agreed positions.

Nick peeled the towel from his shoulders and rubbed it through his hair, trying in vain to soak some of the dirty water out of it. He knew he had seen bodies in that damn canal. It would be a real fucking joke if he survived the Green Flu and the zombies only to be killed by Cholera. Though, at least then he wouldn't have to worry about steering the yacht through a storm, or remembering how Ellis's lean, muscular body had felt beneath him as he dragged him back aboard.

As if the universe could read his thoughts, Ellis's lean, muscular body appeared beside him and stole the towel to dry his own hair. Then rain began to fall.

"Well, shit." The hick said, smiling at him with that dumb, lopsided grin. He dumped the wet towel on the peg over Nick's suit jacket; the conman's eye twitched but Ellis didn't notice, instead giving him a playful slap on the back as he retreated to his position. "At least you needn't worry 'bout gettin' your clothes dry, Captain Nick."

_God. Damnit._


	12. The Weather and the Deep Blue Sea

"So, we have a shitload of rain, a boat out of fuel... And now this." Nick peered through waterlogged eyes, motioning at the carnage that lay before their feet. "Is anyone else getting Deja vu? "

"Yep." Ellis replied with a humourless smile and untied the knot in the arms of his overalls. He pulled them up over his shoulders and huddled closer to Rochelle, wrapping the upper half of the garment around her body. She hugged her arms to her chest and leant into him, shivering.

The sky above them rolled with the motion of black storm clouds, and the rain that pelted down pricked their bodies and faces like tiny, icy needles_. _He was pretty certain that Florida was supposed to be warm, but apparently the weather gods were making a special exception just for them. Before them a blackened crater lay, the remains of a Circle K store. The few buildings that neighboured it (one of them a Waffle House, Coach noted with some sadness) were only half standing and charred with flames, leaning precariously on their ruptured foundations. Amongst the mangled chunks of metal and stone a few small fires smoked bravely in spite of the rain, the rest having burned out along with most of the gas.

They had managed a fair portion of their journey over the last day and a half, but conditions on the water were really beginning to get threatening. After the second time the wind tipped the yacht enough to nearly send them skidding off of the deck, an unanimous decision was made to stop off at the next town and get some more gas; the idea being that they wouldn't have to rely on the increasingly violent winds to steer them for the rest of their journey. So earlier that evening they had found themselves moored on a rickety wooden dock surrounded by the soggy, grey dunes of Panama City Beach, Florida. Population: zero. After pressing on through the usual array of wandering infected, environmental hazards and abandoned evacuation centres, they had finally reached the nearest gas station. Or rather, what was left of it.

"Okay," Coach said, and dropped the gun bag to the floor. He began rummaging through it, looking for the GPS unit. "There were signs for a safehouse about five minutes back, so how about we-"

A guttural moan pierced the rain. Instinctively they locked up and stood back to back, guns raised and ready to shoot.

Long seconds passed. The rain spat and chattered like a wild beast, whipped at their faces and obscured their vision. Ellis shuddered at the sick familiarity of the situation, and he could swear that the scars on his chest were tingling.

The cry came again, louder and closer.

"CHARGER!" Rochelle yelled, and grabbed his arm; she dragged him to the left just in time, and Coach and Nick dived to the right. He barely caught a glimpse of the monster's sunken eyes and rotted, skeletal face as its thick arm grazed his flank, sending him staggering. He fell hard on his hands and knees, but unable to stop under its own momentum the Charger hurtled by and fell into the pit with a crash. Its angry howl echoed through the thick rain, accompanied by the noise of tearing flesh and metal.

That was _too _close.

Coach jogged over to Ellis and held out a hand for him, and he allowed himself to be pulled up. The group approached the edge with caution. It was a sickening sight. A clutch of ragged pipes had broken the Charger's fall, and it was thrashing violently to free itself. Two of the pipes protruded several inches out of its back, and another from its left leg. Thick, gelatinous blood stained the remains of its clothing and pooled in the elephantine cracks of it's skin. It writhed pitifully and pierced the rain with high, angry bellows, bending the pipes this way and that with the sheer force and frustration of its pinned body. Nick raised his magnum unceremoniously, and shot it's head until it fell still.

"I hate them things." Ellis murmured, and turned away. A shiver went through his body, and not just because of the cold. It was hard not to imagine him or his friends impaled on those same spikes.

"Look at it, though." Rochelle said incredulously, her neat brows furrowed in surprise.

He frowned and glanced back over his shoulder to the corpse. It was slumped a little unnaturally, but given the way that it had landed that was to be expected. The flickering light of the fires played with the shadows on its body, making it seem to shift and grow. He knelt and trained his flashlight on it.

And sure enough, it was different. The spindly, vestigial left arm was no more. In its place was an arm just as grotesquely overgrown and thick as the right.

"Well I'll be damned." Coach said, and rubbed his chin. "I guess they're changin'."

"Survival of the fittest." Nick muttered, and glanced over his shoulder into the chilling darkness. "If dumb shits like us go around picking off the weaker zombies, the stronger strains of the virus get more room to multiply."

A quiet unease settled over the group. They had developed a style of combat with their experience, won with hard effort, blood and sweat. They had killed so many, and all had gone down the same. Some took a few more bullets, some took a few less, but they were all just as dead. It wasn't always easy, but it was predictable.

But if the infected were still mutating, they could easily regain the upper hand purely through the element of surprise. If that happened they would be no better off than they had been back in Savannah, running around in blind terror and shooting at anything that moved.

Ellis's heart shrank a little as he remembered the Jockey. At the time he had assumed that he just hadn't heard it's cackling as it approached him, but in the light of this new information... Maybe they were _learning_.

"I think we should go back to the boat." Rochelle said quietly, once again seeking refuge from the cold in Ellis's overalls. "I don't like this at all."

"We can't." Coach said wearily. He shook his head. "We have to look for more supplies. That Charger took the goddamn gun bag with it."

Ellis and Rochelle's mouths fell open. Their gazes snapped to the pit, and sure enough, the nylon handles of the bag were just barely visible tangled in the Charger's legs. Ellis cursed under his breath. All of their food, their spare ammunition, extra pills and adrenaline shots... As well as all of their medical supplies. They were right underneath the Charger, crushed and useless. Even they could navigate the piles of sheered metal without slicing any arteries open, even if the Charger wasn't currently impaled in a pit of spikes like a dead video game character; they knew from experience that it would take more than four people to shift it.

"So we got no ammo, no GPS, no first aid, and only one gun each." Ellis said glumly, and scuffed a small rock with the side of his boot. It bounced towards the crater and landed with a clunk. "I think this might be a tad worse than your déjà vu, Nick."

"No _shit_."

"We should go then," Rochelle said, and pulled out her pistols. "Lead the way, Coach."

He smiled broadly and held his arm out for her, which she happily slipped her own around.

They had been walking for only a few minutes before Ellis stopped and squinted through the rain. Surely that must be a trick of the light. Or maybe it was because he was getting tired. But he knew for sure that what he was seeing couldn't be real.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky for a split second, and confirmed his fear: he was definitely going mad.

"Ya'll," he said miserably, and buried his head in his hands. "Y'might as well shoot me now 'cause I'm seein' things, and I ain't even lying. I can see the Titanic right over there."

He pointed to the opposite side of the intersection, and his companion's collective gazes followed the line of his finger. Another clap of thunder sounded, and a brief flash lit up the scene in front of them. Sure enough, not five hundred feet away was the front end of ship sticking out at a low angle from the Earth.

"Oh great, a giant effigy of a sinking ship. Do you guys think that maybe the Universe is trying to send us a message right now?" Nick asked, and prowled into the road. They followed.

"No," Rochelle answered, checking their flank briefly, "But I _do _think that isn't a real ship. It's one of those Ripley museums; I saw it on the internet."

"The ones with all the weird shit in 'em? Oh man, are you guys thinkin'-"

"Actually, I am." Coach said jovially, and slapped Ellis on the back. He pointed to the asphalt beneath their feet, and the orange arrows that had been guiding them. Ellis followed them with his eyes, which lit up; the arrows headed in a straight line right up to the museum's entrance.

"Great." Nick said with an unenthusiastic roll of his eyes. "Last one in's a shrunken head."

* * *

**A/N: Please excuse this chapter's lame title...**

**Just wanted to let you know that I've updated a few chapters. The more recent ones seemed a bit sloppy in comparison and the older ones had a few discrepancies so I've fixed 'em up. Please do let me know if you see any more errors. And a huge thankyou to you all, reviewers and readers! I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am.**


	13. House of Horrors

Ellis was surprised when the door didn't creak as he pushed it; given how ominous the place looked, it would only have been fitting.

They crept cautiously across the entrance hall, weapons raised. Their flashlights illuminated the oddities that were packed around the walls and threw distorted shadows on the walls. He watched the artefacts with some caution; the two headed alligator in particular looked just about ready to leap off of the wall and eat them.

"This way," Coach whispered, and shone his flashlight over the next orange arrow on the floor.

Upon entering the door, dim, orange lights began to flicker, revealing a massive, high ceilinged space. The companions froze, and immediately locked back to back, hearts pounding and waiting to see if a horde would be roused by the sudden illumination.

Tense seconds passed, and the lighting died out again. With no forthcoming ambush, they exhaled and dropped their defensive position.

"Goddamn emergency lights... But we're home free now; look there." Coach whispered with a relieved smile, and pointed to the other end of the hall. Sure enough, the saferoom door was just barely visible through the maze of artefacts.

"I think we're in Heaven, guys." Ellis murmured, awestruck. The others turned to him in confusion. Rochelle shone her flashlight on the exhibit that held Ellis so enthralled and stifled a laugh; right in front of them was a perfect, eight foot tall replica of Optimus Prime, made out of (from what she could tell) real car parts.

"The Big Guy must be getting pretty soft if he's let a robot _and_ Nick into Heaven." She quipped, flashing a shrewd smile in the conman's direction; He sniggered.

"Hey, you shouldn't joke about that, Ro. Nick ain't a bad man." Ellis said seriously. Nick was about to laugh some more, but Coach hushed them. With a swift movement he reached over and clicked Rochelle's flashlight off.

Ellis's stomach dropped.

Sure enough, a soft, eerie gasp echoed from the shadows, followed by a small sob. The familiar, horrifying sound of a weeping woman.

"Witch," Coach hissed, eyes narrowed. "And she's walkin'. "

Silently they crept forward, keeping enough space between them to be able to flee if necessary. Ellis fingered the Molotov on his belt; he felt totally naked without the familiar weight of a medkit on his back, and knowing that they didn't even have one between them made him feel a little ill.

Even as they inched forwards through the near darkness the grief laden voice was getting louder, as were the slow, soft sounds of unclad feet shuffling on the floor. As they drew closer, the acoustics of the large space and the eccentric layout of the walkways made the voice bounce around them, filling the room to its core and making locating the Witch by sound impossible.

Ellis thought that he caught a glimpse of luminescent, purple-grey flesh through the glass box surrounding an African mask. He blinked; it was only his reflection. He shook himself mentally and willed his legs to keep walking. Around just one more block of artefacts, the route to the saferoom would be clear- they could make a break for safety and have the door closed before the Witch even knew that they were there.

"_Tits." _Nick hissed.

She stood insidethe saferoom, facing away from them. Her limp, braided hair was matted with blood and Boomer vomit, and she wobbled slightly on a wounded leg. A pair of white sneakers were twisted and melted onto her feet, and the flesh from her foot to her knee was bubbled, taut and burnt, most likely from Spitter acid.

She was so small... Only a child.

Ellis set his jaw in grim determination. They had no choice but to kill it, he knew. Killing Witches was not something that any of them took lightly, him not the least; but if they waited it would probably take the only route out of the saferoom and be right on top of them. Better to catch it by surprise.

Rochelle held out her pistol to Nick, who swapped it for his shotgun. She took a tentative step forward, nominating herself to take out the threat. Ellis felt a pang of dread go right through him; as the smallest, fastest and quietest member of their group it was a logical decision, but still not one that he would wish on his worst enemy, let alone a good friend.

"I'll cover you, Ro." He whispered, and raised his pistol. Coach and Nick did the same.

Barely daring to breathe, the three men watched as Rochelle crept in near silence towards the door. Five steps left to go. Then three.

The Witch turned to stare at them, clawed hands slowly lowering from its face. It growled softly, and just as its face contorted in fury, just as it opened its mouth to let out that blood curdling scream, Rochelle fired and it flew backwards into the wall with the sheer force of the buckshot. Bleeding from the neck and chest, the body crumpled to the floor.

Rochelle raised her shotgun and whooped; they let out a sigh of relief.

"If you havin' zombie problems I feel bad for you son, I got ninety-nine problems but a Witch ain't one!" She sang, shaking her hips in a small, triumphant dance. She held her hand up to Nick, who high fived it with a laugh.

Coach strode over and picked up the Witch beneath her armpits to drag her away from the saferoom; Ellis quickly joined him and helped by grabbing the ankles. She hung limply between them, swinging and leaving a dark trail of blood as they stepped out of the door. Her skin was still hot and sweaty with fever, and the burnt skin on her legs sluiced off into his hands like wet tissue. He screwed his face up and tried to ignore it. As they approached a quiet corner, the sounds of Rochelle and Nick's celebrations grew fainter.

Coach set the Witch's body down and untied the pink band that held her braid. Slowly he ran his broad fingers through her hair. Freed from the blood and gore, it fell around her shoulders in a frizzy mess.

"You feel it too, don'tcha?" Ellis murmured, taking for granted that Coach would know what he meant. The older man glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

"Think we all do, sometimes." He said softly, and turned back to the girl. He lifted her hand and gently slid the band over the bloodstained talons to her wrist.

"Somebody loved her, though. That's what matters." He said, and slowly rose to his feet. Ellis nodded in agreement, but even after Coach headed back to the safehouse he stood, studying her face. Blood tricked from her nose and pooled on her upper lip, before dripping slowly down to her chin to join the stream that came from her neck.

It wasn't like they hadn't killed children before. Sure, there were no young 'common' infected- the larger infected probably ate them, he figured. They'd happily turn on their own for a snack. But one of the first hunters they had ran into – the first one he had killed, back in the Vannah - was a little boy. Everything that day had been so screwed up that he had forgotten it until now.

He watched the flow of blood from her nose, until finally it stopped dripping.

For a second his mind took him back to the overgrown grass in his backyard, on a hazy Sunday afternoon back in 2001. He and his little sister Danielle had crept outside for a surreptitious play session, in lieu of sitting quietly in their room whilst their Mother held her bible study group. He remembered how Dani yelped when their old dog Buzz got tangled around her feet and tripped her, making her fall flat on her face. Afraid of getting in trouble for sneaking out, he sat her in his lap until she stopped crying and took off his shirt to give her something to stem the flow of blood with. They had sat hidden in the grass until it got dark, with Buzz wiggling around excitedly and trying to lick their faces. When it came to explain how the blood had gotten on his shirt, he lied and said he snuck out to Keiths- His Father had given him a hiding, but at least Dani didn't get in trouble.

He guessed that in that memory, she could only have been five or six. A similar age to the child that sat dead in front of him.

He knelt and gently pulled the girl's eyelids shut. The unnatural glow of her pupils faded beneath the thin skin. In the dim light she almost looked normal.

A frown shadowed his face as he heard a distant chorus of calls rang out through the silence like a death knell. Somewhere in the building a horde was forming, and it was probably heading their way.

"Ellis, get your ass in here already." Nick called.

He stood, and with a final respectful nod towards the girl, headed back to safety.

* * *

**A/N: Goddamnit, I need to make Ellis less of a Woobie but he just keeps heading right back there to Woobieville. Sorry for spamming ya'll with notes, but I should let you know that I'm really busy with school (hence the shortness of this chapter) so I might not update for the next a week or so. I might get a chance to write some shorter stuff, but I dunno... But on the upside, I've finally decided how this is going to pan out, and so far it's amounting at something like 40 chapters. At _least_. So, uh, enjoy XD Apologies for not replying to any reviews! I will get around to it once Uni has stopped trying to disembowel me mentally. Thankyou to everyone who has left them, and everyone who has read and favourite'd too. Love you all!**


	14. Onwards and Upwards

Ellis immediately made a beeline for the duffel bag of supplies sitting on a table at the back of the small room. There were the usual fist aid kits and guns, as well as a few bottles of water; almost enough supplies to replace those they had lost, bar the food.

Whilst Coach and Nick busied themselves with wrestling the heavy iron bar into place across the saferoom door, he picked out a grimy hunting rifle and clipped his flashlight to the barrel. The horde was getting audibly closer, but he guessed that they could just camp out behind the door and mow them down from there. Certainly it would be better to attract as many as possible from the room's relative safety.

He slung the gun over his back and hopped up onto one of the slatted tables positioned around the walls. It was some kind of maintenance room, he guessed. A few empty pedestals were stacked neatly in the corner next to a shallow built-in cupboard, which brimmed over with various boxes, mannequin limbs and old placards and leaflets. The low ceiling was a far cry from the high vaulted roof of the main exhibition, too – the light fitting dangled low enough to graze the top of Coach's head. Still, it was homely enough, despite the peeling paint and grime.

With a final muffled curse from Nick, the two older men managed to force the slightly misshapen bar down far enough to secure their safety. Temporarily, at least; Ellis thought that it looked like one well aimed ram by a Charger would be enough to pop it right off.

"You know what?" Rochelle stepped into his eyeline and smiled, the first genuine smile that he had seen her give since they stepped back onto dry land. He gladly returned it.

"What?" He asked, and began swinging his legs around. She set her shotgun down on the table beside him in favour of a couple of Uzis, before walking over to give one to Coach. He took it with a grateful nod, and mounted a rickety step ladder next to the tall storage cupboard to see if there was anything useful inside.

"Once this is all over," She continued, "I am going on a date with Mister Jack Daniels. I swore off that shit after College, but right now I think I could drink a whole barrel." She grinned up at Coach, who returned an affectionate eye roll.

"I'll drink to that." Nick said, and shot Rochelle a sly grin. "If whiskey's your poison, you should give Crown Royal a try. JD doesn't have _shit_ on it. Maybe next time we pass by a club we can-"

A flash of luminescent green attracted Ellis's attentions. Before he could even yell to warn them the mutilated face of a Spitter appeared at the bars of the door, its jaw flapping low in a wide leer. He raised the rifle- the first bullet knocked it back and by his second his three companions were spinning round, guns raised but still too late. With a last dying gurgle it expelled a spurt of strong smelling green fluid, which completely covered the saferoom floor.

Nick's quick reflexes allowed him to leap catlike onto the nearest table, but Rochelle was caught off guard in the centre of the room. She dropped her gun and shrieked as the acid hit her ankles, and took a running jump onto the bottom rung of the step ladder. Coach threw an arm around her back to steady her just in time, using the other arm to embrace the ladder so as not to lose his balance. Ellis watched in horror as her boots shrivelled and burned around her legs, which buckled beneath her. Her footing lost, she slid downwards, supported only by Coach's awkward grip. The acid continued sizzling, eating into the floor, and as the heat reached her skin she let out a scream of fear and pain.

The image of the Witch, her melted shoes clinging to her scorched legs flashed across Ellis's mind. Without thinking he grabbed a bottle of water from the bag, broke the cap, covered the ground between them in two great strides and up-ended it over Rochelle's feet and lower legs. She gasped at the sensation and recoiled strongly enough to nearly make Coach lose his tenuous hold on her body, but Ellis quickly hooked his forearm under her rear to support some of her weight. The thin leather of her boots bubbled and cracked, releasing a foul smelling gas as the acid weakened and neutralised with the water and air.

Suddenly, every nerve ending in his feet were on full alert, waiting for the imminent pain of a chemical burn. He cringed at the thought of the soft flesh being dissolved from the arches of his feet. But it did not come. He watched the ground, heart thudding against his ribs as slowly, the remaining acid on the floor became nothing more than a pale green foam.

"What a _bitch_..." Rochelle hissed through a sharp intake of breath. A little shaken and bewildered, Ellis lifted her up and carried her bridal style to one of the tables. Nick cleared it with a sweep of his arm and helped to set her down, whilst Coach quickly unzipped his first aid kit and began rummaging through.

"How much does it hurt, Ro?" Nick asked with concern, and gently tugged the remains of her right boot down to her ankle. She surprised them all by batting his hand away with a brave smile.

"Right now it hurts more that my Louis Vuittons got melted." The smile quickly turned to a grimace. "But if that's the worst that happens to me in this apocalypse, I'll roll with it."

They watched as she slowly pointed her toes before pushing the boot off all the way, allowing it to land on the floor with a plop. Beneath was revealed the stringy remains of her pale pink socks clinging to raw flesh. Blood pricked and pooled beneath the swollen skin, but it appeared to only be a superficial burn. Even the polish on her toenails was relatively intact. They let out a collective sigh of relief, and Coach rubbed her arm encouragingly.

"You're gonna be fine, thanks to Ellis. Hell, I've seen the sun give burns worse than that. Hold on now, I'll give 'em another wash for you and you'll be right as rain." Coach said with a reassuring smile. He zipped his first aid kit back up and set it down on the table, before slipping the other boot off for her. As he busied himself Rochelle turned to look at Ellis and took one of his hands in hers, a sincere smile playing on her features.

"I honestly have never gotten this close to having a Knight in shining armour. Thank you for saving my feet." She grabbed the mechanic's ear and pulled him in to land a thankful kiss on his cheek. He guffawed and turned away from her in a weak attempt to hide the flush that was threatening to rise in his face.

"So, lover-boy..." Nick turned to Ellis with an amusedly raised eyebrow. "What are _your_ boots made of? 'Cause I think I want some."

Ellis blinked, having momentarily forgotten about his own lucky escape, and glanced down to the footwear in question. They appeared to be unharmed, aside from the rubber soles warping a little at the edge. He let out a small 'oh' as he remembered the reasoning behind his lucky escape and broke into a grin.

"Well y'see, Keith's always had this weird thing about savin' storage space." Nick's shoulders slumped at the mention of Keith's name but Ellis continued regardless, hoping that his act of heroism might gain him a little lee-way for storytelling. "He used to reckon that if there were monsters in his closet he'd better appease 'em by makin' sure they had nice spacious digs, y'know? So instead of orderin' in the big cans of dilute battery acid for work, he'd always buy this little can of ultra high concentrate stuff and dilute it down himself. Well, this one time at the shop Keith was doin' just that, but he knocked the bucket over. Sulfuric acid _everywhere!_ We had to take the rest of the afternoon off and just play The-Floor-Is-Lava until Dave came back with enough bicarb to neutralize it." He shook his head and chuckled. "Anyway, Paul –he's Keith's brother and he owns the shop, so he kinda makes the rules – well, he made us all go out and buy acid resistant work boots in case it happened again, so we couldn't waste no mo-"

"Sorry Ellis, but you're gonna have to wait 'till we get Ro back to the boat to finish that one." Coach interrupted, having now finished rinsing Rochelle's feet. His voice was low with concern. "It's gonna be pitch black outside before we know it, that horde is still running around, and we still don't have no gas. D'you think you can walk, Baby?"

She gingerly ghosted her fingers across the heel of her foot. No words were needed; the pained expression on her face answered for her.

"Sorry guys." She murmured.

The gravity of the situation slowly settled. They were alone in a city that they barely knew, with infected swarming around and one person immobile. Sitting ducks.

"Tits." Nick cursed, and ran his fingers through his hair. Ellis didn't think that he could have put it better himself. He scratched absently at the scaly scab on the back of his head, sucking his tongue in thought.

"I think we should stay here for the night." Rochelle offered. "We're not going to get anywhere fast in that storm. And Coach, you need to rest up if you're going to get over that sea sickness."

"That would be great, if it wasn't for our little zombie problem." Nick said, motioning to the entrance. Sure enough, at some point during the excitement the bar had popped out of it's position and was now laying useless and partially melted on the floor. The gangly body of the Spitter lay slumped in the doorway, staring up at them reproachably. It was wearing a bikini.

"Well, I'm all for carryin' you if you want me to, Ro." Ellis offered, pointedly averting his eyes from the dead zombie.

"No." Nick interjected. Ellis, Coach and Rochelle looked at him with mild puzzlement. The conman raised his eyebrows, and Ellis's lip quirked unbidden; he could almost hear him asking why he was having to explain something so blatantly _obvious_.

"You're our best shot, Ace." He said with a shrug. "If a horde comes we're gonna need your hands free. And no offence Coach, but you're not the fastest on your feet even without an extra hundred and twenty pounds of pure womanhood weighing you down, so that just leaves me."

"Hundred and fifteen." She corrected. "Okay then Nick, I owe you a big one. But if you drop me, I'll shoot you."

"Sounds like a plan." Coach agreed with a nod. He shouldered the duffel bag. "Onwards and upwards, then."


	15. Shadows of Doubt

It didn't take long for Nick to start regretting taking on the role of Rochelle's personal donkey.

Sure, his motives may not have been totally pure. Ellis and Rochelle were just getting a little _too _close for his liking, and as a man who liked to keep all of his options open (however improbable they may be), it only made sense for him to intervene before things got too cuddly. Plus, if Ellis fell ass over tit and got them both killed he'd be left all alone with Coach. Not an arrangement that he felt was particularly viable.

Playing pack mule wasn't wholly unpleasant either, though. The soft swell of Rochelle's breasts pressed against his shoulder blades would have been just peachy in any other circumstance, but the crippling ache in his biceps, locked under her thighs in a tight grip, was driving him to distraction. Coupled with the way that whenever she slipped down a little he would find her forearms constricting his air supply, his general discomfort was more than enough to bring his mood plummeting downwards. That, and the rain. And the zombies. The lack of gas for the boat. Pretty much everything, actually.

But how good (or not) carrying Rochelle felt was irrelevant, anyway. He didn't 'do' women anymore after all, except perhaps in the literal sense. Hell, he'd told Ellis his feelings on the matter back in Rayford – 'All women are emotional wrecks who will eventually kill you', he recalled his words as being – and he stood by that, thank you very much ex-wives. Not that Ellis seemed to have noticed the implications of the statement, but hey, it wasn't like that mattered either. Ellis was just about as straight as they came. But Nick could at least still allow himself the not-so-guilty pleasure of checking the kid out- it wasn't like he could see anything else to look at through all of this rain anyway.

He allowed his eyes to wander to the left, where their pet mechanic trundled on bravely through the squall. Given the wind speed he had removed his cap for safekeeping, freeing those tousled ash-brown locks from their hat-inflicted oppression. They whipped and licked wetly about his face, occasionally causing him to wipe the damp from his forehead lest it trickle down into his already quite waterlogged eyes. The rain made that ugly yellow shirt cling to his chest and abs like fine silk, hugging every wet curve and dip of muscle. Oh, what Nick wouldn't give to see him out of those tattered old clothes and wearing something with a bit more finesse. A body like his was just wasted under such rags.

But then again, fantasizing about dressing the kid up in a suit was a little bit too much like fantasizing about a relationship, and the idea of a relationship with Ellis was just plain laughable. They already drove eachother up the fucking wall at times, and in Nicks' experience that kind of friction only amplified when there was a relationship at stake. No. Better to halt _that _fantasy at the nice part in the middle where his little friend was wearing nothing at all.

There'd be lots of make-up sex if they were together though, he bet. Ellis seemed like the kind of guy who'd like it rough...

A few gun shots rang out from the mechanic's gun as he took out a couple of infected shuffling through the shadows of twilight. Yeah, maybe he should leave the daydreaming there and pick it back up when they weren't wandering through the zombie infested wastelands.

"How far to go now?" He asked nobody in particular.

"It's about a quarter mile to the beach, according to that sign." Ellis said, pointing over his shoulder to the side of the road. Nick didn't bother looking; he could barely see ten feet in front of his own nose.

Which was unfortunate, really, or he might have noticed the horde that was rushing right at them.

A shove from behind sent him falling flat on the ground, and he only just managed to avoid crushing Rochelle's feet under his body. She cried out as the rough gravel of the road scraped her tender skin and a pair of cold, clammy hands rose through the darkness above their bodies, ready to strike. Ellis whipped around and shot the attacker through its skull before replacing his hat and taking position over his downed companions, standing back to back with Coach to defend from both sides as they became surrounded by a crowd of vicious assailants. Covered in dirty groundwater and without time or space to remove the woman from his back, Nick did the only thing that he could: cursed loudly, pulled a pistol from his thigh and started shooting indiscriminately at the legs of the infected. Rochelle followed suit.

They came in relentless waves, surrounding the four companions as a rough sea surrounds an island. The sound of the wind and rain was drowned out in gunfire and the muzzle flash illuminated the street and the infected around them like a flickering lamp. Coach swung his arm out violently to knock back the foremost attackers, sending them toppling like dominoes and giving him an impossibly tiny window in which to reload. Then they were on top of him, snarling and pushing and each trying to get claw their way closer to the four survivors, landing blows and scratches and bites- Nick took out a few of the infected at the front with his glock to buy the other man some time before he had to stop and reload himself.

Only thirty seconds or so passed, and as always, as suddenly as the horde had appeared it was gone; replaced with a thick ring of corpses surrounding them like an obscene, meaty doughnut. Once again, they were alone.

"Well, screw me, I sure didn't see that comin'!" Ellis laughed apologetically, which did little to soothe Nicks' irritation.

Once they were back on their feet, they continued on through the storm. Tall buildings, hotels judging by the height and shape, loomed from the darkness like watchful sentinels. It wasn't long before they passed by the ruined gas station. Nick glanced into the pit. To his confusion the Charger's body was gone; in its place was a long, thick smear of blood, and a chunky collection of putrefying meat and bone. Their old gunbag was torn up enough to be nearly unidentifiable, its broken contents strewn around a twenty foot radius.

Ellis and Coach stopped to observe too. They exchanged worried glances. There were few things out there big enough to cause that amount of damage to a Charger- even a dead one.

"Let's keep moving." Coach muttered, and walked on at a quicker pace. Nick grimly readjusted Rochelle's position on his back and followed. The prospect of coming back this way once they had dropped their injured comrade off was less than welcoming.

Nick's body was bent and heaved with heavy panting by the time they reached the shoreline. The rain was easing somewhat, and he could just about make out the rickety dock a few hundred feet to the west. With any luck, the boat would be unharmed by the rough weather.

He took another step forwards, but an odd noise caused him to stop in his tracks. Ellis and Coach locked up beside him, and he felt Rochelle stiffen on his back.

They were no longer alone.

He peered into the darkness. Something – something big- was moving through the shadows. Awkwardly, Rochelle pulled her pistol from her belt and Ellis and Coach raised their guns.

Slowly it began to take form, until out of the black rain before them appeared a slow, hulking monstrosity, growling with a rumbling tigeresque purr. _A Tank?_ Nick wondered, but it was not like any Tank that he had seen before- Tanks were, at least, still recognisably human. Its skin was not the normal angry pink that they had become accustomed to, but a mottled purple grey that blackened with mould, dirt and gangrenous flesh at its extremities. The beast's shoulder musculature was so grossly oversized that it forced the neck to bend at a ninety degree angle and stretch downwards, completely obscuring all but the very top of the head from sight. From those great shoulders, ghostly, pointed outgrowths of bone grew like tree roots sharpened to deathly points that glinted icily even in the dim light. Unlike a Tank, its legs were no less muscular than its forequarters- it was built more like an elephant than a man, and it moved with the same slow but precise gait.

It did not seem to notice them. They stood, frozen like deer in headlights for what seemed like an eternity, watching the thing as it turned and lumbered stiffly across the path not a hundred feet in front, its movements laboured and inhibited by its own enormous mass of muscle. Then it passed between two buildings and was gone. They stood in silence until the low sounds of its movement faded into nothingness.

"Holy Mother of Jesus... what the _hell _was that?" Rochelle whispered, fear wavering her words.

"I do _not _care as long as we don't have to see it again." Nick replied quietly. "I vote we get on the boat and don't come back. I'll take the wrath of the ocean over that thing."

"Deal." Coach and Ellis answered simultaneously, and all three broke into a semi-run towards the jetty, with Coach taking point and Ellis at the rear.

As they reached the concrete steps that led down onto the sands, a loud growl sounded behind them. Rochelle's grip on his jacket tightened, and they halted mid stride.

"Sounds like a Hu-"

Before Coach could finish the word, a dead weight collided with Rochelle and Nick was knocked sideways. She fell with a yelp, somehow managing to tear his jacket from his shoulders as she descended. She held the garment up in front of her, shielding her face from the pouncing infected; it snarled and began tearing through the jacket with its long talons.

"Shit!" Nick hissed, and grabbed the Hunter by the back of its shirt. He pulled it roughly off of her and threw it to the side, where Ellis in turn shoved it to the ground. It fell and the mechanic raised his gun, but Coach slapped it down again- they couldn't risk alerting that monstrosity to their presence.

The creature hissed and Nick slammed his foot into its chest, forcing its ribs to crack. It gave a guttural snarl and rolled onto its front, right where Nick wanted it- he dropped into a crouch on its back and restrained the nearest arm at the wrist, grabbed the remains of its tangled mop of hair, and slammed its face into the sidewalk with a sickening crunch. Its free arm thrashed wildly, but Nick did not hesitate- he delivered the blow again, and again, until it lay still and dead in a pool of its own bright blood.

Wordlessly, he scooped a rather shell shocked Rochelle into his arms and they continued their flight down the steps towards the boat. As they reached the grey sand Nick and Coach slowed, unable to maintain secure footing on the loose surface. This didn't seem to hinder Ellis, who was the first to reach the end of the jetty- he stood readily beside the mooring point, rifle raised and waiting for the others to catch up. The waves were already tossing the yacht around, driving it further from the shore. Coach threw Ellis the gunbag and climbed over the guard rail and into the yacht, before taking the bag back and setting it down on the deck. Nick passed Rochelle into his arms before joining them, and Ellis began to untie the mooring rope.

Nick grabbed the wheel of the boat and went to switch the engine on, prepared to use up whatever tiny amount of gas they had left to get them as far away from that _thing _as possible.

It was in that second that he realised.

"I don't have the key. It was in my jacket." He blurted out. His companions' eyes grew wide.

"I'll go get it. It ain't that far." Ellis said, glancing back towards where the shredded white cloth lay. He reloaded his rifle. "Cover me, okay?"

Nick nodded, mentally kicking himself and climbed back out of the boat to get a steadier aim. The storm was quickly becoming more violent. He could still see Ellis's outline against the grey sand and bleak darkness, but anything beyond him was shrouded from view. He watched with baited breath as Ellis knelt, presumably by the bundle of torn cloth. He snatched it back up into his arms and started running full pelt towards them.

Was that the wind, or was he yelling something?

Nick's heart plummeted. He could see dark shades of pink raising through the darkness- not one Tank, but two, and then three- it would be useless to try to shoot them all. He grabbed the rope securing the yacht to the dock and untied it before jumping back onto the deck. The yacht, now freed, rocked to the sides and slowly the distance between the boat and the jetty increased.

"What the hell are you doing? He'll get killed, Nick!" Rochelle yelled, but her words flew over the gambler's head. He grasped the chrome guard rail and stared at Ellis, willing him to run faster, to grow wings if he had to, damn it- they couldn't afford to lose him_._

He couldn't afford to lose him.

The wind caught Ellis's trucker hat and blew it clean off of his head. Nick watched with cold horror as he paused, glanced behind, and then backtracked for a few steps to grab it. He was _so_ close to them, and the Tanks were only tens of feet behind him.

"FUCKING RUN, YOU GODDAMNED MORON!" He shouted angrily, voice drowned by the wind and crashing waves- how dare he risk his life for a freaking _hat_, what kind of idiot would-

And then Ellis was at the dockside, leaping forwards. Nick threw out his arms nearly far enough to send him flying over the rail, but Ellis collided with the side of the boat and he caught him.

He caught him.

He stared dumbly at the kid, so utterly gobsmacked to be holding him, _alive_, that he nearly forgot the two Tanks that had reached the end of the jetty. One halted just short of the edge, but the other ran into the back and knocked it over the side, only a few feet shy of the yacht. They watched horrified as it thrashed in the water, sending waves sizable enough to make the boat rock even more violently. After a few short seconds it sank beneath the violent waves and out of sight. Its two companions let out an angry howl and pounded the dock with their meaty fists before making an about turn and prowling off, back into the night.

Nick's gaze snapped back to Ellis's eyes. The younger man's warm, wet weight surrounded him, filling his senses; he could feel the heat rising from his muscles, smell the heady scent of fresh perspiration and hear his ragged breaths. Ellis stared back. Then the kid's mouth- those full lips, those white teeth- broke into a wide, shit eating grin that seemed to fill every corner of his face, and the moment was gone.

"Hey, Nick!" He said with a cheerful laugh and produced the key, dangling between finger and thumb from its battered red keyring. "Nice catch brother, I owe you one."

Nick nodded a slow acknowledgement and released his grip on the mechanic, who nonchalantly jumped the guard rail, popped the key into the ignition and disappeared below deck with the gun bag. Coach laughed heartily at Nick's apparent loss of speech and followed, an equally amused Rochelle still cradled in his arms.

Nick returned his hands to the guard rail and stared up into the black sky. His heart was still hammering, and somehow, picking up that earlier fantasy where he had left it seemed even more appealing than before. He could still feel Ellis's warmth on his skin, and its absence made him tingle.

He scowled. He had to admit, if Ellis had died... He would care. A lot. And not just because he found the kid attractive, either. He _liked _that son of a bitch, with his infuriatingly sunny disposition and constant stream of bullshit stories. Somewhere along the way, he realised with a large measure of annoyance, he had been stupid enough to allow himself to form a bond with three strangers who could die at any time. Though given how much he had disliked the mechanic at first - right from their first encounter in the Vannah's parking lot, where he had conned him out of the use of his gun - the change in attitude towards him was perhaps most noticeable. Even if he was immensely irritating at times, he had grown to admire Ellis's honest and gregarious nature; and though he'd never admit it aloud, sometimes the kid's endless reserve of optimism really did make him feel like there could be a future after the infection. He liked Rochelle just as much, with her dry wit and no-nonsense attitude, as ready to bounce a shrewd remark off of him as she was to laugh when he returned the favour. And he did respect Coach, both as a man and as their unofficial leader, though they may not always see eye to eye. And he trusted them all with his life.

When did he allow himself to get attached? He didn't know.

"Fuck you guys." He muttered, but only the rain heard.


	16. Hell on High Waters

Ellis stared up at the dark cherry wood ceiling, barely visible through the thick darkness. The fuel supply had evidently dwindled to nothing in the whole twenty minutes of sleep that he had managed to catch, snuffing out the little halogen lights embedded in the cherry wood along with it. He rubbed his eyes a little sullenly. It must be what, three am? Four? He didn't know for sure. He did know that the rocking of the boat was beginning to make him feel nauseous, however.

He shuffled to the end of the bed and swung his legs over the bottom, shivering a little as the cold, salty air wicked all of the heat away from his skin. Maybe it would be a good idea to keep the rest of his body wrapped up. He pulled on his socks, wrapped the comforter around his shoulders like a cape and made the three wobbling steps to the door. Judging by the how floor lurched from side to side under his feet the storm was only getting worse.

Rochelle looked up at him from the flickering oil lamp in the middle of the table and smiled grimly. She was wrapped up in a blanket on one of the white leather benches at either side of the narrow room. Beneath the table her injured feet rested in a bowl of creamy fluid; coconut milk, if the empty husks surrounding her were anything to go by. He suppressed a smile. They had all laughed when they found the bowl of coconuts in the kitchen the previous day, but he was glad now that they had found a better for them than the Karate-chopping competition that he had suggested. Coach lay on the opposite bench to Rochelle, sleeping fitfully with his face to the wall. Nick was nowhere to be seen.

"He's still outside?" Ellis asked, eyebrows darting upwards in incredulous surprise. Rochelle confirmed with a nod.

"And he says _I'm_ the one with mental problems." He chuckled softly so as not to disturb Coach. A low rumble of thunder sounded, as if to cement his statement. His smile turned to a concerned frown. "I think I'll go check on him-"

"I wouldn't bother. I hobbled out there about ten minutes ago, and he's either concentrating so hard on steering the boat that he didn't notice me talking to him, or he's in a _really _foul mood." Rochelle said with an eye-roll, and patted the empty space next to her in invitation. "Knowing Nick, my money's on the latter."

Ellis padded across the laminate flooring and plopped down next to her with a resigned sigh. Nick sure was a confusing man- one day offering him a shoulder to cry on, the next brushing them all off. He wasn't used to that kind of ambivalence.

"Well, I ain't feeling so good after seeing that huge Tank, either, to tell the truth." Ellis muttered grimly. "But Nick- he really ain't a bad sort of feller, you know? He was real kind to me when I hit my head that time" He leant forward and took a piece of broken coconut husk from the table before taking a bite out of the white flesh. Rochelle's had never shared her thoughts on the conman with him, and she was not an easy woman to read, but he couldn't deny that he was curious about what kind of judgement she had bestowed upon their fellow team member. She gave him a sidelong glance and shrugged, noncommittal.

"Guys like Nick can be whatever they want to be. And they're usually just full of shit, believe me, I've dated a few." She added with a wry smile. "But I hope you're right. He's always been good to me, even if not you or Coach."

Ellis nodded his agreement. The sound of the roaring wind and waves outside seemed to deepen in their silence. He didn't really want to think about the precariousness of their situation, out on the sea in such a storm and with no hope of rescue if anything were to go wrong. The three lifejackets that sat on the table were of little comfort.

"So what's your story?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "You dating anyone now?"

She gave a short laugh and shook her head. "Hell no. Though even if I was, I guess they'd be a zombie by now."

"Yeah." Ellis nodded, a little sadly. He stared fixatedly into the yellow glow of the oil lamp, watching the flame dance and waiver. It was hypnotic in a way that would have made him feel sleepy, if not for the slight nausea that still chewed at his gut. He frowned and hugged his knees to his chest.

"We shot a bunch of people I use to know at that Mall." He murmured. "It ain't nice. There was old Roy from Church, my ex-girlfriend from High School, a couple of customers from the shop... People I'd known for years..." He trailed off, ticking the dead people from his fingers.

He heard Rochelle sigh sadly next to him, and her small hand came up to rest on his shoulder. He shook his head.

"It ain't no thing, though. I guess everybody's gotta die sometime, you know? Better to help them along than let them stay all zombie-fied." He smiled honestly and scratched the healing wound at the back of his head; a habit that he realised was becoming more and more frequent as the days went by. He quickly lowered the hand and gave Rochelle a sheepish smile. "I'm just grateful my family got out when they did, y'know?"

"More people should have." She said quietly, shaking her head. "There were some terrible rumours going around the news room, but we had the military reviewing every broadcast, so we were limited in what we could say. Do you remember what happened in Pennsylvania?"

Ellis sucked his upper lip and nodded, recalling the news that had been plastered over the TV and radio for the three weeks it took for the infection to reach Georgia. "That's where the first case was, right? They said they put the whole state went under quarantine."

"My ass they did." She retorted, nostrils flaring. "One of the other news stations had some of their people take aerial pictures from above the no-fly zone one night, and power was out across nearly the entire Mid-Atlantic. Washington, NYC, Baltimore, Philly... All dead. And they say that the President was evacuated within forty-eight hours of Patient Zero being admitted to Mercy Hospital- can you believe that? They _knew_ how devastating this disease was going to be." Her hands bunched into angry fists around the blanket, and she pulled it tighter around herself. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Government manufactured the damn Green Flu themselves. Then one day, whoopsie, the virus escapes and millions of people are left for dead. Maybe even billions."

"You think it could have spread world-wide?" He asked, wide eyed. It wasn't a possibility that he had really thought about; he supposed that he had just assumed that flights would be stopped and CEDA would do their best to contain the spread, though given how miserably they had failed perhaps Rochelle's point of view should not come as a surprise. She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by the cabin door being unceremoniously flung open; Nick slammed the door behind him and ran his hand through his hair, squeezing water from the drenched locks. His expression was, at best strained. At worst he looked about ready to murder someone.

"Overalls, I need you on deck." He barked. "We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Ellis asked, rising quickly to his feet. Coach rolled over and began snoring, apparently undisturbed by Nick's sudden intrusion.

"The kind of problem that we have lifejackets for." He said and pointed at his own, aggravation clearly showing. His gaze was met with two blank stares.

"ROCKS." He spat. "You know, those sharp, jagged, _rocky _things that boats like to sink on? There are more rocks out there than you have cousins, Ellis. So if you three aren't feeling ready to die just yet, _put your goddamn lifejacket on _and get out here."

He stormed back out onto the deck, and they quickly grabbed a lifejacket each and slung it onto their backs.

"Be careful out there, sweetie." Rochelle said, voice laced with concern. She clipped the jacket on around her waist and began adjusting the nylon strap to fit her smaller frame. "I'll wake Coach up. Tell us when you know anything, okay?" Ellis shot her a smile and gave her a thumbs up before hastily forcing dashing to the door. Just as his foot met the first step he quickly turned back to her.

"Ro?" She looked up from fiddling with the jacket to meet his gaze.

"I only actually have four cousins, and they _all _live in Idaho." He grinned. "You were right, Nick really is full of shit!"

Rochelle just smiled grimly and shooed him on with a wave of her hand. He quickly ascended the five small steps from the cabin and turned the handle on the tiny door, which was immediately ripped from his grasp by the wind. The salty air and spray hit him like a charging bull. He quickly stepped outside, supporting himself on the wall, and closed the door to keep the meagre amount of heat inside.

Boy, he was going to need it when he came back in. It was freezing. And black.

Nick stood in front of him at the helm, looking thoroughly tired and fed up. He didn't make eye contact, instead turning the large wooden wheel to the left; the sails, only partially raised due to the strong winds, turned a little with the motion. They flapped and strained like tall grey ghosts, looking like they could fly off and abandon them at any second. Ellis shivered and felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered that Nick didn't even have his suit jacket any more- as a testament to how cold he was, the blue shirt under his lifejacket was buttoned up all the way to his neck. Not very 'Nick' at all.

"Where do you need me?" He shouted out, despite the man only being five feet in front of him. The wind and waves were more than enough to drown his voice, but apparently Nick heard; he waved him forwards and turned the wheel back to the right, dodging another oncoming wave. Water slopped at Ellis's feet as the swell broke on the side of the yacht and slammed the vessel roughly to the side; he steadied himself on one of the built in bench seats at the boat's side to prevent himself from sliding overboard and quickly tugged off his socks. He'd have much better purchase on the deck without them, he reckoned.

"I need you to hold on to me, okay?" Nick yelled, squinting at him through the downpour. "We're going to hit a rough patch. Can you do that?"

"Sure I can." He replied and grabbed the back of Nick's lifejacket, wrapping his wrist around one of the straps to form a loop. He squeezed behind the conman and sat down on the bench directly him, and with his other hand grasped the railing. He gripped it tight. Nick wasn't going anywhere without him.

"We're heading in to land now." Nick informed. "Better brace yourself, kiddo."

Ellis's grip tightened on the rail until his whole hand felt under tense pressure. A strong lap of water rode up and hit him in the back- he gasped as the freezing liquid knocked the air out of his lungs.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if there were any more waves coming. It was a big mistake. Behind him, all he could see was black water, rolling and violent- black enough that he might as well be sitting with his back to a chasm. His heart thundered in his chest, and a feeling of mortal dread far colder than any wave crept up through his chest.

They could die. They could all die, alone, and nobody would even know about it. That was far scarier than any zombie.

Then he heard a sickening, scraping crunch. The boat tipped precariously on its side, nearly sending him sliding down the bench- Nick span the wheel frantically but nothing happened until the next wave hit and they were knocked back into equilibrium.

"We just went up on a rock?" Ellis shouted, but Nick didn't answer.

Another bang came, from the other side this time- and then three more in quick succession from beneath. Ellis closed his eyes and tried to swallow the fear. They couldn't die here, after everything- that wasn't an option.

The cabin door burst open and Coach appeared at the opening. Ellis couldn't hear what he was saying, but Nick's response was enough to make his heart leap.

"Tell her to hold on to something. We're gonna hit the beach in about thirty seconds."

Sure enough, each erratic wave was sending them straight forwards now- no more rocks battered the sides, no more rogue swells pushed them left or right. With all the grace of the Jimmy Gibbs Jr, their boat glided onto the sands to a stop and tipped gently to the left, onto its side.

Ellis blinked, dumbstruck, and stood up; a little awkwardly given the new angle of the deck. Nick turned around to look at him, still gripping the wheel tightly to stop himself from sliding down the sharp incline, and a smug grin spread over his features.

"So," He said, eyebrow raised and breathing heavy from the adrenaline rush, "Do you think we can still sleep in those beds at this angle?"

Ellis felt his own face break into a smile, and then a laugh. He didn't care; he'd sleep on the wall if he had to.

Thankfully, such measures were not necessary. It was more than a little awkward, but a repositioning of the mattress so that it sat half on the wall and half on the bed did the trick. However, Rochelle's bench was no longer sleepable, being raised skywards at a forty five degree angle; thus, Coach remained in position on the other, lower bench, Rochelle took the double bed at the bow that Nick had previously claimed, and Nick came to share Ellis's bed. Ellis didn't mind, but Nick was apparently not too thrilled with the idea and insisted on a separate blanket. In retrospect, maybe making that joke about Nick keeping his hands to himself had been a bad idea.

All things considered though, the arrangements weren't bad- not bad at all, considering the scare that he had gotten earlier. Ellis cuddled his comforter up under his chin and listened to the soft, familiar sounds of Nick breathing. Neither the plane of the wall nor the plane of the floor being straight, the dip of the mattress in the now downward-facing corner ensured that no matter where they tried to lie they ended up rolling backwards until they were right next to each other. Ellis was quite glad to have an excuse to sleep this close. The warmth was comforting.

He closed his eyes and drifted into peaceful sleep.


	17. Blood and Icecream

"That sure is a lot of gulls." Ellis commented. A small heap of corpses had washed up a few hundred feet down the shoreline, presumably in the same fashion that they themselves had arrived. The free meal was attracting quite a crowd of the sea birds; he was surprised that they hadn't completely stripped the meat off of them yet.

"Yeah. More gulls than you could shake a stick at." Coach agreed. He took a bite out of the last remaining coconut half, the other morsels having been eaten by Nick and Rochelle before they had woken up. Morning had brought little clarification as to where the boat had landed, but one thing was certain: they weren't going back the way they came. There were a number of holes and splits in the boat's fibreglass hull, some as large as the palm of Ellis's hand. It wasn't quite damaged enough to make him think that sitting on it would be a bad idea, though; he did so quite happily, legs splayed out and his guitar in his lap, though he didn't dare try playing anything yet. The storm had well and truly passed and the late morning sunlight warmed the smooth plastic surface quite pleasantly. Coach stood in a rather more sensible position, leaning against the wrecked vessel with his feet firmly on the sand.

One of the gulls plucked an eyeball from a dead man's face and swallowed it down whole. Ellis's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"So, uh, we gonna try and find another car then?" He asked. Coach took another bite from the slightly sandy coconut, in no particular hurry to answer. He chewed slowly and swallowed it down.

"Yeah. No more of this shit." He gave a derisive snort and kicked against the hull with his heel. "Never puked so much in my damn life. I'm half the man I used to be."

"Well we'll just have to fatten you up a bit." A wide smile spread across Ellis's face. "Tell you what, when we're done with all this zombie fighting I'll introduce you to my Mom. She makes the best Taco Cheeseburger Macaroni you've ever tasted in your life!"

"You can count me out for that one." Rochelle said; her sudden appearance at Coach's side almost made Ellis jump. She raised two fingers to her forehead in a casual salute, and dropped their bag of remaining guns and medical supplies down at her feet, along with Ellis's shoes. "'Morning boys."

"Hey, alright! You're back on your feet. How are they feeling?" Coach asked with a smile.

"Well, my skin feels tighter than a twelve year old, but it's not blistering yet at least." She stuck one foot forward as evidence; sure enough it looked less pink than it had the day before, and the dead skin on top was beginning to peel off. She wiggled her toes freely. "Once Captain Nick is done fixing his hair we're going to need to loot me some shoes, though."

"Man, why does he bother with all that grooming shit?" Ellis laughed. "He's only gonna get covered in puke and brains anyway. And we don't care what he looks like."

"Well, so long as he ain't thinking of bringing any zombie women home, he can do as he likes." Coach said cheerfully, and gave Rochelle a small squeeze around her shoulders. "Glad to see you feeling better, baby."

Thankfully it did not take long for Nick to emerge, looking rather more upbeat than they were used to seeing him. He almost had a spring in his step, in fact- something that Rochelle was quick to point out.

"Oh, I just got a _big load_ off my mind." He said with a cryptic smile, and stretched his arms up behind his head.

"O-kay, you don't have to tell us that much next time." Rochelle answered, balking slightly. Ellis slid down the side of the boat until his feet hit the sand with a soft thump.

"What, is something worrying you?" He asked with genuine concern. Nick stifled a laugh and shook his head, grinning.

"Don't worry Sport, I'll tell you when you're older."

Once their weaponry was distributed they set off on the short trek up the beach. Beyond the sand their view was obscured by trees. Ellis couldn't help but wonder if they hadn't come ashore in the middle of nowhere and would have a long walk to the nearest area of ex-civilisation; but his concern was quickly allayed when Coach pointed out the grey strip of road surface just barely visible through the foliage, and the row of well maintained wooden fencing after that. They wove their way beneath the trees (Nick somewhat apprehensively- a flock of birds was congregating in the boughs over their heads) and crossed the asphalt. The fencing appeared to conceal a large back yard, surrounding an equally large house. Just as good a place to search for supplies as any.

"I don't think I can get over that." Rochelle said, looking doubtfully to the top of the wooden panel. It rose a good two feet above the top of her head, and the individual planks were nailed vertically, offering no footholds.

"I can." Ellis chipped in, and shook the fence a little with his hand to check its stability. "How about Coach and Nick help you up on this side, and I'll catch you on the other one?"

"I got a better idea." Coach said with a wicked smile, and took the axe down from his back. With a deft swing it collided with the aging timber and shattered a few of the planks. Another three well placed blows created a hole large enough for even Coach to squeeze through. Nick went first, pistol raised.

The sight that they were greeted with was disturbing, to say the least.

The back yard that they had entered was well kept and surprisingly neat, given its recent abandonment. Well tended flower beds and ornamental bushes were sprinkled neatly around the fenceline, along with the occasional hanging bird feeder and windchime. But unless the owners of the house had happened to be mass murderers, Ellis was pretty sure that the bodies of five soldiers strewn about on the grass like lawn ornaments were a new addition.

"Looks like they got more than they bargained for." Coach muttered, and switched his axe out for a gun. He rolled the nearest body over gently with his foot. The bloodstained bullet holes in the man's armour told the cause of death, but the gratuitous mutilation that had taken place on his person was entirely more worrying. There was a gaping, bloody hole in the man's crotch, and two lumps of flesh that looked awfully like they may once have been his testicles were crammed into his gaping mouth.

"Jesus, no! _Shit._" Ellis cringed as he realised what had happened. He turned away with his hands covering his eyes.

"Okay." Nick said, in a calm voice that was betrayed by the slightly nervous act of running his fingers through his hair. "You guys seem pretty sheltered, so just so we all know; there are a lot of whack jobs in this world who would sooner shoot you in the head than share the same square mile with you. Those aren't the people we have to worry about- the people we have to worry about are the ones who will hunt us down for sport and rape our corpses. Or, you know, do this."

A flurry of gunshots sounded in the distance, spooking the flock of birds in the trees behind them into flight before silence fell again. The group froze.

"Screw this apocalypse." Rochelle sighed and ran a hand across her face. "I just want to hug my Mom, make myself a nice big chocolate cake, and get some good grief counselling. Then I can pretend I've never shot a gun or seen a dead guy choked on his own balls."

"We'll get you baking that cake yet." Coach murmured. "But in the meanwhile, our friend here is looking pretty fresh. Aren't any bugs in his eyes, or anything Hell, the last time we saw a slab of meat this clean was in Georgia."

A few more shots went off, further away this time.

"I think we should just get what we need and leave." Ellis said uneasily, and started walking towards the shattered back door. The others followed in step, eager to leave the vulnerably exposed space behind them but cautious as to what may lurk within. Ellis paused at the door, fingers hovering over the handle.

"I'll take a look in the garage, might be something useful." He turned to Nick, and his previous expression was replaced with a far more daring grin. "Wanna come? Looks like these folks had some money, there might be a nice car in it for us."

"Thanks, but no thanks." The conman answered dryly, and reached around him to click the handle open. Rochelle and Coach trained their guns on the door; it swung open, but no assailants waited behind it. They stepped in.

"I need to find myself a new jacket," He continued, "And I'll pick you up some socks, since you were smart enough to let your old ones wash overboard."

"Oh yeah... I forgot about that." Ellis said a little sheepishly. "How about you Coach, wanna check out the downstairs with me?"

"Well somebody's gotta make sure you keep your mind on finding supplies rather than looking out cars." He agreed. "I want our asses done and out of here in fifteen minutes, people. Ten if there's no car in the garage. We take everything that's useful and that we can carry. Sound good?"

Once they had all agreed they tentatively spread out across the large open plan kitchen. It was utterly ransacked; cupboard doors hung from their hinges, chunks of the plasterboard ceiling had fallen down and there were bullet holes and bloodstains spattered on every surface.

They picked their way gingerly through the carnage, and Ellis made a beeline for the garage door on the kitchen's left wall. Rochelle and Nick left to look for a way upstairs whilst Coach scouted the other downstairs rooms for infected, or worse. Having found nothing of interest he returned to the kitchen and started sorting through the remaining canned food. The people who had lived here had obviously either evacuated or turned without a moments' notice; despite the damage the house was still relatively well stocked. A short gurgle from a shambling infected and two shots from Nick's glock rang out from upstairs, confirming that the houses owners were still in residence; but the two soft thumps of their bodies hitting the floor that swiftly followed hailed the end of that state of affairs.

Ellis waved his arm in front of his face and coughed, attempting to clear some of the dust. The garage was lit only by two thin slices of light that filtered in through gaps at the side of the roller shutter doors, but even in the dim light he could tell that the vehicle contained in the room was somewhat out of place. He squinted through the clouds of dust and trained his flashlight on its position in the centre of the room.

_Holy shit._

His mouth broke into a wide grin and he ran back towards the kitchen.

"Coach? Coach! Man, you are gonna _love_ our ride, if we can't find the keys for it I swear to God I will hotwire it 'cause I ain't leaving it behind, it's _amazing!_"

Coach's eyebrow rose slowly, and with a sceptical shake of his head he turned back to the pantry. That did nothing to suppress Ellis's excitement- he grabbed the protesting man's arm and dragged him out to the garage. Once his eyes adjusted and the dust settled, he began to smile too.

"Oh _shit._ Ellis..." The older man's eyes widened as they travelled across the contours of the vehicle. "Looks like a... _Ice cream truck_._"_

"I am _not _riding in that _thing_."

"Aw, c'mon Nick, live a little! Don't it take you back to your childhood?" Ellis asked in a gleefully sing-song voice, and patted the passenger seat next to him invitingly. Nick glanced warily at the cartoon bear that was painted on the side of the van. It stared back at him with bland insipidity.

"_No_."

"Well alright, it's been good knowing you." Coach said, and took a bite out of one of the candy bars that they he had found in the kitchen. He climbed into the vehicle and sat down next to Ellis and gave a small wave. "Have fun with the zombies you two; we'll send you a postcard when we hit the Keys."

Rochelle climbed in through the side door with a reluctant sigh and set herself down on the small stool in the serving area.

"Give me one good reason why we can't find a different car." Nick dared flatly and planted his feet firmly apart on the ground, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "One that _doesn't_ have creepy-ass bears painted all over it."

"This one has a full gas tank, and we have the key to it. _And_ my ass is already sat down." Coach reasoned.

"It's nice and roomy in the back too, ain't it Ro?" Ellis asked cheerfully. She rolled her eyes and waved her hands slowly in mock excitement. But it was true; there was more than enough space for them to carry an excess of food and guns, with room left to spare on the floor for somebody to stretch out and take a nap if necessary. The (thankfully already cleaned and empty) reservoirs that would usually hold the liquid ice cream made good containers for their dwindling water supply, too.

"This is the least bad-ass thing I have ever done in my entire life." Nick grumbled, defeated. He followed Rochelle's lead through the side door and sat himself down on one of the rolls of bedding on the floor before opening up the roadmap that he had found in the house.

"We turn right, then right again at the intersection onto 20th street, then right again into Dupont Drive and left onto Route 98. We've got about seven hundred miles to cover."

"We're not even half way there yet." Rochelle noted with a sad sigh. "Is anyone else feeling like we might not make it? I mean, we're cheating death at every turn. If we got there and then all caught the normal flu and died, that would be ironic."

"Like ra-a-aaain, on your wedding day." Ellis sang flatly, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine kicked smoothly into life and he moved off gently down the driveway.

"Don't worry Ro, we'll be fine." Coach reassured, and took another bite of chocolate. "So long as we keep our heads screwed on and don't run into any more of those Big Mutha Tanks, anyway."

"Yeah, what's our strategy for those?" Nick's voice enquired from the floor behind them. "I'm thinking we blend it up a little. A pinch of our usual Tank angle of 'Make Ellis set it on fire and watch him run away like a little girl, whilst everyone else shoots the shit out of it and avoids all cars and dumpsters' over a heavy dose of 'Stay the _fuck_ away'."

"Yeah." Coach agreed. "And I'll add a point to that; same as the crying bitches. No bullets within sight or earshot of it."

Rochelle and Ellis nodded their agreement, and he turned the wheel to bring them smoothly onto the new road ahead. It may be long, but at least they were getting there.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, guys! Portal 2 has consumed me; I am GLaDOS's potato. If anyone catches the Portal reference in this chapter, maybe I'll let you ride an elevator all the way up to the break room and tell you about the time I saw a deer.**


	18. The Bell Tolls

Ellis had always loved sunrises. He loved being up and raring with the first light of morning, watching the warm pale sunlight shake the night time chill from the land, evaporating the frost and bringing the world to life. It took him back to his childhood, especially in summer when he could close his eyes and almost reach out to touch the memories of waking up at dawn on camping trips with his family.

So whenever there was no saferoom in the vicinity and keeping watch overnight became necessary, he usually volunteered to take the dawn shift.

He stretched his arms above his head, exercising the last weariness of slumber from his bones. He had relieved Ro of her duties a few minutes earlier, and sat down now where she had on an old aircon outlet atop the rooftop of the gas station where they had chosen to hole up for the night. It hadn't been a hard choice; all around was desolate and empty for miles except for a long line of trees that ran parallel with the highway, and of course their faithful new ice cream truck.

The guitar that he had been given by the dying man back in Mobile sat next to him, the new sun now casting a warm sheen over its sleek buttery surface. He ran his fingers across the strings idly, admiring the mellow, dulcet tone. That simple sound combined with the morning daylight and the peaceful, zombie-less silence... It was like a little piece of heaven.

He wondered if he dare risk play a song.

Taking the sniper rifle that Ro had left behind, he scouted quickly around the corners of the roof. The rooftop commanded a good view of the surrounding countryside. It was mainly rolling, flat grassland, bright and glistening in the morning light, and a few dilapidated stores across the street that looked like they had been abandoned long before the infection. Why somebody had chosen to build a shopping parade out here in the ass end of nowhere, Ellis didn't know- he guessed it must have sprung up around the gas station- but in any case, it made for easy work. His surroundings confirmed clear, he moved quickly back to the centre of the roof. Once he might have dangled his legs over the side of the roof while he played, but a few too many close encounters with Chargers and Smokers had made him wary of sudden drops like that.

He hopped up onto the unit and cradled the guitar in his lap. What to play? The songs he played in Keith's band were a bit too Midnight-Riders to really fit with a guitar like this, and the tuning was different. He only really knew the bass parts of those songs anyway. His fingers sat a little awkwardly on the strings; they were so much thinner compared to his bass that it felt like he might snap one if he got too enthusiastic. Come to think of it, he hadn't actually played a guitar for eight or nine years...

He strummed an experimental G chord and a wide smile spread across his face. He knew what song to play, though it had been a long time since he last heard it. His fingers moved nimbly to the opening chord- or so he thought, anyway. With a twinge of sadness, he realised that he didn't remember for sure. But it would do.

Unbeknownst to Ellis, Nick watched from the fire escape behind him. A small smile curled upon his lips when the kid began to play; he recognised the melody from one of his Mothers stupid 'We-are-going-to-pretend-to-be-a-perfect-family-and-go-to-Church-every-Sunday-from-now-on' phases. They never lasted, but the tune had stayed with him.

Ellis hummed along, oblivious as Nick approached. The gambler raised two fingers to the back of Ellis's head, briefly brushing the soft, dirty curls, before giving the younger man a jab in the back of the skull. Ellis startled and the song ended with an abrupt twang as he whipped round to face his attacker.

"Bang. You're dead." Nick grinned cockily, and blew the imaginary smoke from the end of his finger-gun before setting himself down on the A/C unit. Ellis glared.

"That was dumb, Nick. I could have shot you."

"Yeah, I hear guitars make great alternatives to firearms." He said, and inclined his head towards Ellis's rifle, which sat uselessly out of arms reach. "It's called 'keeping watch' for a reason, kiddo."

Caught red handed. Ellis smiled sheepishly and watched as Nick picked up the rifle and set it in his lap before sending him a sidewards glance.

"Aren't you going to finish?" He questioned. Ellis's eyebrows raised a fraction.

"Wouldn't have thought you'd like that kind of song. I mean, you don't seem the church going type- no offence." He added quickly, but evidently Nick took none; on the contrary, he was treated to one of the Gambler's roguish grins.

"Music's music, right? Just don't tell my Mom."

"Sounds good." Ellis responded with a grin, and started from the beginning with a little more confidence. They sat for the first verse and chorus, just playing and listening. A gentle breeze tousled Ellis's hair, bringing with it the faint scent of grass and the cologne that Nick still insisted upon dousing himself in. He took in a deep lungful of it. It was definitely nicer to play for an appreciative friend than to play alone.

He couldn't help but feel curious, though.

"So where's your Mom now? Evac'd?" He asked with as much feigned disinterest as he could muster. Nick had never really spoken about his life before the infection, which Ellis found a little odd. He couldn't just ask with no reason, of course, but since Nick mentioned her first...

His question was met with a dismissive snort.

"Try 'dead'." He said, with enough disdain to make Ellis miss a chord. He silenced the strings with the palm of his hand and looked to the older man, unsure of how to react or even if he might be joking. He didn't seem at all bothered, after all; His face was unreadable, his eyes forward.

Taking Ellis's hesitation for curiosity, Nick shrugged. "She topped herself when I was thirteen."

Ellis's face fell in sympathy, despite Nick's stoicism. He knew what it was like to lose a parent.

"I'm real sorry to hear that." He said softly.

But to his confusion, Nick chuckled, eyebrows raised. "Don't bother" He naid with another grin, "She just wasn't cut out for life. She'd been waiting for years for the right excuse to pop up so she could kill herself to spite my Dad, and he was stupid enough to leave evidence of his affairs lying around. At least now she can't make anyone else as miserable as she was."

Ellis's brow crinkled. He didn't know what to make of that- both Nick's indifference and the fact that he had been so forthcoming about the information. He was sure that he didn't like it. Though, a niggling voice reminded him, maybe that's just because that sentiment hits rather too close to home.

So he simply nodded, and began to play again.

* * *

"I _really_ don't think that going through Jacksonville is a good idea."

Ellis frowned and drummed his fingers on the wheel before habitually tapping on his turn signal and bearing left, passing by the burnt out ruin of a six car pileup. The truck handled surprisingly well, in his opinion, even though the fuel economy left little to be desired.

"We've been over this." Coach said wearily, glancing to Rochelle in the rear view mirror. He averted his eyes quickly and grunted as the mirror blinded him with the reflection of the mid afternoon sun. "I know Jax, I know where the gas stations are, and it'll take us to route 95 faster than anything else... We're gonna be fine. In and out like a flash."

Ellis thought he heard Nick mutter something, but he couldn't make it out.

"Honestly, I'd rather be going back to Savannah."The mechanic said glumly. "Must only be a hundred and fifty miles or so North of here..."

"We'll get there in time, youngin'." Coach said with a sage nod. "Probably best not to see it yet. Anything could have happened whilst we were gone- Hell, it might have burned to the ground by now."

"Geez, way to cheer him up." Nick said bluntly. "Ellis, once we're settled in our island paradise we can take a trip and check it out."

"So long as you ain't planning to sail up there." Coach grumbled.

Before long they were leaving the highway and entering downtown Jacksonville. It was eerily quiet. Not like Mobile, or even New Orleans, where the quiet background chatter of the infected was ever present. Tall buildings loomed overhead, their windows shattered, yet the roads were clear of debris. But more than anything, the air was clear; untainted by the reek of death or industry. That worried Ellis less than the fact that the van was probably now running on fumes rather than actual gas, though. All of the seven gas stations that they had checked so far had been blown up, looted, switched off, boarded up or otherwise emptied.

"Go right here." Coach murmured, pointing to a burnt out warehouse on the street corner, and Ellis complied.

A pair of glowing, piggy eyes met his. Their owner gurgled, its fat rolling with the reverberations of the sound.

_Shit!_

Ellis slammed on the breaks and swerved violently to avoid the bloated infected, but it too attempted to sluggishly move out of the way and in doing so collided with the side of the van. He clenched his teeth, hoping to have missed damaging it... But a violent boom of air and bloody vapour hit the side of the truck, ejecting Rochelle from her stool with a yelp. As the tyres skidded for purchase on the greasy, bloody surface of the road, she threw her hands out in front to stop herself from falling flat on her face.

Her hand landed on inconspicuous grey box, mounted between Ellis and Coach's seats. A box with a shiny red button protruding from its surface, carefully labelled with a small treble cleft.

Each one of them froze with cold dread as _The Teddy Bears Picnic _began to chime deafeningly loud from the speaker mounted on top of the vehicle. Rochelle winced and stabbed the button again but it only caused another incarnation of the tune to start over the top of the first, doubling the volume.

It was at this point that the engine shuddered and died, gas spent. The song, apparently powered by the battery, continued just as loudly.

"Everybody out!" Coach hissed, breaking their dumbstruck silence; they each grabbed a gun, and just as Ellis slammed his door shut an unholy chorus of howls rang through the air, accompanied by the sound of a thousand approaching feet.

They ran.

* * *

**Really sorry for the patchy updating, guys! I'm studying for my June exams, and all of the procrastinating I've bee doin since January is catching up... Guhhh... Just as the plot is thickening too. Uhhh, enjoy your cliffhanger? :D... u_u I'll do my best but I really can't make any promises with regards to updates. But I still love you all! Thankyou to my anon reviewers, and anybody else who I have been cruel enough to forget to message.**


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